A lean young man in spectacles pursued her for some time, crying “Courage! Courage!” Somebody threw a dab of mud at her, and some of it got down her neck. She recalled that she had heard nothing that first time when Gerald and the captain had burst in upon her. At times he seemed to be claiming pity from her; at times he was threatening her with her check and exposure; at times he was boasting of his inflexible will, and how, in the end, he always got what he wanted. Now, he had achieved them, and felt assured of success. “It really seems as if we shall have to put down marigolds altogether next year,” Aunt Molly repeated three times, “and do away with marguerites. The spinsters had purchased one grass-linen tablecloth; the girl and the young man had purchased nothing. “But if you weren’t keen on the suffrage business, why on earth did you go to prison?” Ann Veronica reflected. Anybody in pain had only to call to him.
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