The books slid from her arms and fluttered to the floor. She turned on the lad with her, who was visibly relieved. “I will be off,” she declared. "A little. No hair to fall awry, no powder to displace, no ruffles to crush; men are lucky. ‘Besides, I don’t want the men blundering in here and frightening off our spy. “There is no remedy, girls,” she began, breathlessly, “except the Vote. The pause lengthened, and he had the satisfaction of seeing despair melt the set mockery of Spurlock's mouth. And though I say it that shouldn't say it, no man can tie a better knot. I am not going to be a chorus girl, or even a super. Her hair was of the darkest brown, and finest texture; and, when unloosed, hung down to her heels.
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