No other man should touch her; she was Hoddy's, body and soul, in this life and after. The applause was uproarious at the end of the concert. About the Abbey and Abingdon Street stood the outer pickets and detachments of the police, their attention all directed westward to where the women in Caxton Hall, Westminster, hummed like an angry hive. Her cheeks burned for a moment or two when she reached the street, although she held her head upright and walked blithely, even humming to herself fragments of an old French song. Guns were impossible.
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