Like a petulant child he snapped. “Your name, I believe, is——” “Pellissier,” Anna answered. In a moment the brisk evening breeze caught the lank canvas and bellied it taut. He was carelessly dressed, and there were marks of unrest upon his features. “If you speak—farewell. And a ballot-box—” Her face assumed an expression of intellectual conflict. She softened her tone and scrambled for the right words.
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