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The trio finally arrived home at 3:48 in the morning, and she saw lights that indicated the awareness of some of the nosier Beck neighbors. It was an odd room, used principally for the reception of guests and visiting dignitaries, packed from end to end with ill-assorted sofas and padded chairs. Ramage controlled his expression and thought very quickly. Wood, disdainfully. Then she would have quiet times, in which she would say to herself, “Now look here! Let me think it all out!” For the first time, it seemed to her, she faced the facts of a woman’s position in the world—the meagre realities of such freedom as it permitted her, the almost unavoidable obligation to some individual man under which she must labor for even a foothold in the world. “But if you weren’t keen on the suffrage business, why on earth did you go to prison?” Ann Veronica reflected. And a ballot-box—” Her face assumed an expression of intellectual conflict.
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