This fruit was McClintock's particular pride. A door slammed. She was fatigued physically and mentally, and neither mind nor body could rest. Dear me! if there isn't his knock. Ann Veronica surveyed his sloping back for a moment, and then drew her microscope toward her. Her feathered hat fell from her head and down her back, and she felt fingers writhing in the mass of her hair and caressing the flesh of her neck beneath so that she shivered uncontrollably. She became at times an embodiment for Ann Veronica of all that made the suffrage movement defective and unsatisfying.
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