Gosse would have killed me, and perhaps in the fight I might kill him. “There is my aunt,” she said. My politics in that matter wouldn’t be to give women votes. Jerking forward, she jabbed backwards. So I come round the other way and—Lordy, miss, I’m that sorry I made a mull of it. It isn't as if he were stricken with typhoid or pneumonia or something like that. “Then let me be the judge of what is best,” she answered. And she was about as capable of intelligent argument as a runaway steam-roller.
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