At the open door stood a young man in a rich garb with a mask on his face, who was encouraging the mob by words and gestures. Hogarth, didn't I see you last night at the ridotto with Lady Thornhill and her pretty daughter?" "Me!—no, Sir," stammered Hogarth, colouring. Andrew's church, the bell of which was tolling, was covered with spectators. She became at times an embodiment for Ann Veronica of all that made the suffrage movement defective and unsatisfying.
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