Her skin prickled. For a time she brooded on the ideals and suggestions of the Socialists, on the vague intimations of an Endowment of Motherhood, of a complete relaxation of that intense individual dependence for women which is woven into the existing social order. " "And so Sir Rowland murdered his friend," remarked Wood. ” She smiled grimly at the recollection of that lunch—tea and roll at a cheap café.
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