I do not choose the vicomte, for that would be foolish. The youth with the hair brushed back and the spectacled Scotchman joined in the fray for and against the women’s vote. There is the election——” He laughed derisively. "I yield to fate. And mind, your life,—more than your life—hangs upon your choice. “We’re in for it. She began at once a hasty readjustment of her hair, while Ramage parleyed with inaudible interrogations. "You won't betray him.
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