The slight fracture in the breastbone
had repaired itself by one of Nature's magic processes. So one day
our battered heroine doffed the invalid garments of Michaelis and
donned those of any well-dressed woman of 1912, including a thick
veil. Thus attired she passed from the parapet to the fire-escape
(recalling the agony these gymnastics had caused her the previous
November), and from the fire-escape to the roof of No. 92
(continuous with the roof of 94), and past the chimney stacks, into
the top storey of 94, and so on down to the street, where a taxi was
waiting to convey her to the Lilacs.
(The W.S.P.U., by the bye, to bluff Scotland Yard had added to the
name of "Algernon Mainwaring, 5th Floor," the qualification of
"Hygienic Corset-maker," as an explanation--possibly--of why so many
women found their way to the top storey of No. 94.)
Arrived at the Lilacs, Vivie took up for a brief spell the life of
an ordinary young woman of the well-to-do middle class, seriously
interested in the suffrage question but non-militant. She attended
several of Honoria's or Mrs. Fawcett's suffrage parties or public
meetings and occasionally spoke and spoke well. She also went over
to Brussels twice in 1912 to keep in touch with her mother. Mrs.
Warren had had one or two slight warnings that a life of pleasure
saps the strongest constitution.[1] She lived now mainly at her
farm, the Villa Beau-sejour, and only occasionally occupied her
_appartement_ in the Rue Royale.
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