Her voice was soft and singularly musical; but from time to time she uttered old-fashioned words which forced him to grope mentally. So it would always be between herself and Manning. “Why, it’s David!” he exclaimed. "The lash cuts to the bone. She wore a wonderful dress of turquoise blue, made by a great dressmaker for a function which she knew very well now that she would never attend. But in the appendix of the dictionary she had discovered magic names—Hugo, Dumas, Thackeray, Hawthorne, Lytton. A girl of fifteen or sixteen gave her a handbill that she regarded as a tract until she saw “Votes for Women” at the top. ‘Jacques!’ She got no further, for Kimble came towards her, speaking fast and low. It's my way when I'm ruffled.
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