Unless women are never to be free, never to be even respected, there must be a generation of martyrs. But the general was turning on him, the hint of emotion wiped from his lined features. She parted the curtains to find him standing there. She turned a resolute face southward. Anna and her escort exchanged glances. No sooner had they entered the room than Sharples, who waited to usher them in, hastily retreated, closed the door, and turning the key, laughed loudly at the success of his stratagem.
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