She is no longer mine; she is yours. It numbered nine, and four of these were women students. They did not care— servant or master, it meant nothing. My politics in that matter wouldn’t be to give women votes. “We don’t let to ladies,” they said. He ate of the bread with great appetite, and having drunk as much as he chose of the water, poured the rest on the floor. Inexplicably there flashed into vision the Chinese wedding procession in the narrow, twisted streets of the city, that first day: the gorgeous palanquin, the tomtoms, the weird music, the ribald, jeering mob that trailed along behind.
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