“We’ve all been mixing our ideas, and we’ve got intellectual hot coppers— every blessed one of us. "Is your master at home?" inquired the jailer. She went up-stairs and hesitated between four doors with ground-glass panes, each of which professed “The Women’s Bond of Freedom” in neat black letters. I—well, I lost my temper. Baffled in their attempt, the mob uttered a roar, such as only a thousand angry voices can utter, and discharged a volley of missiles at the soldiery.
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