One day they were at tea in the laboratory and a discussion sprang up about the question of women’s suffrage. Like carpenter, like chips. She tried to compose her thoughts, to think of the last six months, to steep herself in the calm beauty of the surroundings. She had been in the drawing-room for a few minutes before the gong had sounded, and had chattered gaily to every one. Wood, severely, "and go to bed. "I never told anybody," she went on. “There’s morbid beauty,” said Ann Veronica. Don’t ask me how. .
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