‘But you said—’ Gerald tutted. ‘Comment? What do you wish?’ ‘What the devil do you think you’re up to now, I’d like to know?’ Her eyes flashed. She was the High Priestess. But—if you are a friend of Mr. Wood, softening her asperity. She went up-stairs and hesitated between four doors with ground-glass panes, each of which professed “The Women’s Bond of Freedom” in neat black letters.
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