The contest, however, though desperate, was brief. Grace-church Street was entirely deserted, except by a few stragglers, whose curiosity got the better of their fears; or who, like the carpenter, were compelled to proceed along it. Then suddenly her spirit rose in revolt. "We must keep still. The winters were terrible in cold climates, and she often had been driven to dig herself large underground pits where she waited it out like a mole in the cold months. And a ballot-box—” Her face assumed an expression of intellectual conflict.
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