” Part 9 She was sitting brooding over her fire about ten o’clock that night when a sealed and registered envelope was brought up to her. Miss Klegg raised the question of women’s suffrage, and he set himself to provoke a duel between her and Miss Garvice. Bravo!—the best cly-faker of 'em all couldn't have done it better. He was at length rescued from his assailants,— rescued to perish, seven months afterwards, with every ignominy, at the very gibbet to which he had brought his victim. His shirt was unfastened, his vest unbuttoned, his hose ungartered; his feet were stuck into a pair of pantoufles, his arms into a greasy flannel dressing-gown, his head into a thrum-cap, the cap into a tie-periwig, and the wig into a gold-edged hat. It would make my wife very happy. "I am one. You understand that term?” Ann Veronica smiled faintly. Yet before she turned once more to resume her flight she schooled herself with an effort to look where it had happened. I like such interviews. The place for reading.
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