I’m a Socialist, Miss Stanley. She woke up choking and belching water. The release was so great that she felt tears spring from her eyes. “Oh, you know,” she said. The entire city seemed to exist for beauty and art alone. 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. Cathy answered the phone. ‘You do not use your head, Emile,’ she said flatly. She asked no further questions for the moment. Your second turn is not over, is it?” She laughed a little hardly. 207 She romanced a dark-haired farmer a few times, having long since forgotten his name.
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