“I’m sorry, ma’am, to seem the cause of any disturbance, but this,” he pointed to Anna, “is my wife. "Try!" Enraged at the assurance of his mistress, the woollen-draper endeavoured to carry his threat into execution, but all his efforts to remove her were unavailing. She could hear their footsteps upon the pavement. Everything, Miss Miniver said, was “working up,” everything was “coming on”—the Higher Thought, the Simple Life, Socialism, Humanitarianism, it was all the same really. A chain, riveted to an iron belt encircling her waist, bound her to the wall. The audience clapped more heartily. ‘I rather gathered as much,’ said Miss Froxfield, releasing her hands.
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