Gerald grinned. “What a little brick!” he murmured. Gerald’s thoughts raced as he reached out supporting hands and murmured meaningless phrases to soothe. Flattened flowers aren’t for the likes of us. Lights were on and Michelle’s mother was up, occasionally pacing as Michelle and Lucy had been gone for over two hours. What was it in her heart or mind or soul that went out to this man? Music—was that it? Was he powerless to stir her without the gift? But hadn't he fascinated her by his talk, gentle and winning? Ah, but that had been after he had played for her. Sepulchre's clock struck eight. “I wish I could make every woman, every girl, see this as clearly as I see it—just what the Vote means to us. "Red apples and snow!" she sent back at him, her face suddenly transfixed by some inner glory. And put ‘em in little books for remembrance. They blinded me.
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