One day, after a discussion on votes for women which had taken place
beside Marion's sofa, Diana, when the talkers were gone, had thrown
herself on her friend.
"Dear, you can't wish it!--you can't believe it! To brutalize--unsex
us!"
Marion raised herself on her elbow, and looked down the narrow cross
street beneath the windows of her lodging. It was a stifling evening.
The street was strewn with refuse, the odors from it filled the room.
Ragged children with smeared faces were sitting or playing listlessly in
the gutters. The public-house at the corner was full of animation, and
women were passing in and out. Through the roar of traffic from the main
street beyond a nearer sound persisted: a note of wailing--the
wailing of babes.
"There are the unsexed!" said Marion, panting. "Is their brutalization
the price we pay for our refinement?" Then, as she sank back: "Try
anything--everything--to change that."
Diana pressed the speaker's hand to her lips.
But from Marion Vincent, the girl's thoughts, as she wandered in the
summer garden, had passed on to the news which Mrs. Roughsedge had
brought her. Oliver was speaking every night, almost, in the villages
round Beechcote.
Pages:
474
475
476
477
478
479
480
481
482
483
484
485
486
487
488
489
490
491
492
493
494
495
496
497
498