“We are not the sort that goes under,” said Ann Veronica, holding her hands so that the red reflections vanished from her eyes. “It is part of the irony of life,” he said. I pity her from the bottom of my heart. She gave up as he finished, spending himself in her mouth. She had noticed a twenty year pattern emerging, and funny how opportunity seemed to strike just when she was getting truly anxious. . It’s a sort of blacklegging to want to have a life of one’s own. She was still more stirred by the idea of the equal citizenship of men and women, by the realization that a big and growing organization of women were giving form and a generalized expression to just that personal pride, that aspiration for personal freedom and respect which had brought her to London; but when she heard Miss Miniver discoursing on the next step in the suffrage campaign, or read of women badgering Cabinet Ministers, padlocked to railings, or getting up in a public meeting to pipe out a demand for votes and be carried out kicking and screaming, her soul revolted. I set myself to find employment.
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