“There is no remedy, girls,” she began, breathlessly, “except the Vote. If you'd read your husband's dying speech, you'd know that he laid his death at Jonathan's door,—and with reason too, as I can testify. He might spend the rest of his days at McClintock's in perfect security. ‘Ain’t enough as my bed is took, my sheets all bloodied, and my gin took for to waste on that fellow’s wound. " "Where are you going?" asked his mother. I hung around Harvard a little when you were there.
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