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ANN VERONICA TALKS TO HER FATHER-1-2
ANN VERONICA TALKS TO HER FATHER-3-4
ANN VERONICA TALKS TO HER FATHER-5-6
ANN VERONICA TALKS TO HER FATHER-7
ANN VERONICA GATHERS POINTS OF VIEW-1-2
ANN VERONICA GATHERS POINTS OF VIEW-3
THE MORNING OF THE CRISIS-1-2
THE MORNING OF THE CRISIS-3-4-5
THE MORNING OF THE CRISIS-6-7
THE CRISIS-1-2-3-4
THE FLIGHT TO LONDON-1-2-3
THE FLIGHT TO LONDON-4-5-6
EXPOSTULATIONS-1-2-3-4
EXPOSTULATIONS-5-6
IDEALS AND A REALITY-1-2
IDEALS AND A REALITY-3-4
IDEALS AND A REALITY-5-6-7
BIOLOGY-1-2
BIOLOGY-3-4-5-6
BIOLOGY-7-8-9
DISCORDS-1
DISCORDS-2-3-4
DISCORDS-5-6-8-9
THE SUFFRAGETTES-1-2-3
THE SUFFRAGETTES-4-5
THOUGHTS IN PRISON-1-2-3-4-5-6
ANN VERONICA PUTS THINGS IN ORDER-1-2-3-4-5-6-7
THE SAPPHIRE RING-1-2-3-4
THE SAPPHIRE RING-5-6
THE COLLAPSE OF THE PENITENT-1-2-3
THE COLLAPSE OF THE PENITENT-4-5-6
THE LAST DAYS AT HOME-1-2-3
IN THE MOUNTAINS-1-2-3-4
IN THE MOUNTAINS-5-6-7-8-9-10-11
IN PERSPECTIVE-1-2-3

justice it deserves; he will picture the orderly evening scene about the 

Imperial Legislature in convincing detail, the coming and going of cabs 

and motor-cabs and broughams through the chill, damp evening into New 

Palace Yard, the reinforced but untroubled and unsuspecting police about 

the entries of those great buildings whose square and panelled Victorian 

Gothic streams up from the glare of the lamps into the murkiness of 

the night; Big Ben shining overhead, an unassailable beacon, and the 

incidental traffic of Westminster, cabs, carts, and glowing omnibuses 

going to and from the bridge. About the Abbey and Abingdon Street stood 

the outer pickets and detachments of the police, their attention all 

directed westward to where the women in Caxton Hall, Westminster, hummed 

like an angry hive. Squads reached to the very portal of that centre of 

disturbance. And through all these defences and into Old Palace 

Yard, into the very vitals of the defenders' position, lumbered the 

unsuspected vans. 

 

They travelled past the few idle sightseers who had braved the 

uninviting evening to see what the Suffragettes might be doing; they 

pulled up unchallenged within thirty yards of those coveted portals. 

 

And then they disgorged. 

 

Were I a painter of subject pictures, I would exhaust all my skill 

in proportion and perspective and atmosphere upon the august seat 

of empire, I would present it gray and dignified and immense and 

respectable beyond any mere verbal description, and then, in vivid 

black and very small, I would put in those valiantly impertinent 

vans, squatting at the base of its altitudes and pouring out a swift, 

straggling rush of ominous little black objects, minute figures of 

determined women at war with the universe. 

 

Ann Veronica was in their very forefront. 

 

In an instant the expectant calm of Westminster was ended, and the very 

Speaker in the chair blenched at the sound of the policemen's whistles. 

The bolder members in the House left their places to go lobbyward, 

grinning. Others pulled hats over their noses, cowered in their seats, 

and feigned that all was right with the world. In Old Palace Yard 

everybody ran. They either ran to see or ran for shelter. Even two 

Cabinet Ministers took to their heels, grinning insincerely. At the 

opening of the van doors and the emergence into the fresh air Ann 

Veronica's doubt and depression gave place to the wildest exhilaration. 


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