They travelled past the few idle sightseers who had braved the uninviting evening to see what the Suffragettes might be doing; they pulled up unchallenged within thirty yards of those coveted portals. There was the stile on which Jonathan had sat, and he recollected distinctly the effect of his mocking glance— how it had hardened his heart against his mother's prayer. There was no other door in it, and Jack therefore struck into another entry which branched off to the right. He pulled on his pants, his yellow shirt with the ridiculous horse logo, his brown socks, and shoes.
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