As it
was, Vivie when she coughed spat blood.
A cup of hot bovril and an hour's rest on a long chair and she was
ready, supremely anxious indeed, to try the last adventure: an
excursion across the roofs and up and down fire-escapes on to the
parapet of her own especial dwelling, the old offices of Fraser and
Warren at No. 88-90. The great window of the partners' room opened
to her manipulations--it had been carefully left unbolted before
her departure for Caxton Hall; and aided cautiously and cleverly by
her suffragette helper, Vivie at last found herself--or Mr.
Michaelis did--in the snug little bedroom that knew her chiefly in
her male form.
Here she was destined to lie up for several weeks till the feet and
the chest were healed and sound again. Hither by the normal entrance
came a woman suffragette surgeon to heal, and Vivie's woman clerk to
act as secretary; whilst Adams typed away in the outer office on Mr.
Michaelis's business or went on long and mysterious errands. Hither
also came the little maid from the Lilacs, bringing needed changes
of clothes, letters, and messages from Honoria. A stout young man
with a fresh colour went up in the lift at No. 94 to the flat or
office of "Algernon Mainwaring," and then skipped along the winding
way between the chimney stacks and up and down short iron ladders
till he too reached the parapet, entered through the opened
casement, and revealed himself as a great W.
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