But this revulsion was engulfed by the succeeding waves of pity and understanding. She drew it out with shaking fingers. My son went down after his death. She was listed for the raid—she was informed it was to be a raid upon the House of Commons, though no particulars were given her—and told to go alone to 14, Dexter Street, Westminster, and not to ask any policeman to direct her. “I wonder,” he said, “is there anything we could do to help you to get rid of him?” “Can you think of anything?” Anna answered. . On that night,—that fatal night,—Winifred crushed all the hopes that were rising in my heart. Dieu du ciel, what was it? She turned slowly, listening for the direction of the sound.
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