Her girl, Clarice, was ten and just as pretty as a silver bell. “You must arrest me!” she gasped, breathlessly, insisting insanely on a point already carried; “you shall!” The police-station at the end seemed to Ann Veronica like a refuge from unnamable disgraces. The boy was right. ‘I must get a handkerchief. “You cannot! Oh, you cannot. She did not so much deal with Ann Veronica’s interpolations as dispose of them with quick and use-hardened repartee, and then she went on with a fine directness to sketch the case for her agitation, for that remarkable rebellion of the women that was then agitating the whole world of politics and discussion. One only. But was that enough? Dim, formless suspicions of something more vital wandered about his mind.
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