The door into the passage offered itself with an irresistible invitation—the one alternative to a public, inexplicable passion of weeping. Vaguely she heard the distinctive sound of male voices as she saw Gosse dive towards the fateful pew. “Yes, I know. Permit me to introduce myself. \"Where are you going?\" She cried. 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.
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