Lucy slipped upstairs silently. The booming voice and the energetic movements spoke plainly of hurry. Life is a patchwork of impressions, of vanishing personalities. . . Leonardo had told her it would happen, and warned her to make use of it. Mr. I’m glad the old sore is assuaged. She felt his whole mind sounding in ecstasy. Imbecile. 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. “Are there others like you?” “Yes.
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