We were talking about the suffrage—and I rather scoffed. I did it in self-defence. The lady murmured briefly to her husband, and then tucked her hand into Alderley’s arm. It was Ramage, the occupant of the big house at the end of the Avenue. He was a man who in all things classified without nuance, and for him there were in the matter of age just two feminine classes and no more—girls and women. Sindlesham tried. John. One has to train one’s self not to. ’ He reached into an inner pocket of his coat and brought out a packet of papers. She was aware of it now as if it were a voice shouting outside a house, shouting passionate verities in a hot sunlight, a voice that cries while people talk insincerely in a darkened room and pretend not to hear.
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