" "What gives you that idea?" "Well, we could find no letter of credit, no letters, no labels in his clothes—not a single clew to his real identity. She went up-stairs and hesitated between four doors with ground-glass panes, each of which professed “The Women’s Bond of Freedom” in neat black letters. 207 She romanced a dark-haired farmer a few times, having long since forgotten his name. Suddenly, she heard the crunch of new feet on the gravel.
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