. ’ He nodded in the direction of her pistol. And in its way it was very well. Her voice shook, her eyes were very soft and melting. 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. "Thames!—Thames!" cried Winifred, rushing to the window. It was a moment of breathless interest to all engaged in the attempt.
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