She heard his voice screaming her name into the twilight as she fled, his cries trailing like banners, weaving through the breeze that had begun to gently stir the dew on the ground. It’s made up of things as small as the diameter of hairs and big as life and death. "Oh!" she gasped. She became at times an embodiment for Ann Veronica of all that made the suffrage movement defective and unsatisfying. A girl—at my age—is grown-up.
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