There were sidetables and a writing table, similarly buried in bric-a-brac, and the chair by the French doors could hardly be seen for blankets. On a stool eight feet high sat a small boy in a faded blue cotton, his face like that of young Buddha. “The Vote is the symbol of everything,” said Miss Brett. I’d come back from the ends of the earth. \"No, what?\" She said. Most unsatisfactory. I shall have to discover one suitable.
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