The manager stared at the empty doorway for a space, shrugged, and returned to his ledgers. He did not want Ruth to see his own stricken countenance; nor did he care to see hers, ravaged by tears. “They ought to have been lopped in the spring. “Look here, father,” she said, with a change in her voice, “suppose I won’t stand it?” He regarded her as though this was a new idea. “I want a vote for myself,” she said. It is necessary. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support.
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