Spurling had retired for the night. She would take this one back with her. She found herself in a phase of violent reaction against the suffrage movement, a phase greatly promoted by one of those unreasonable objections people of Ann Veronica’s temperament take at times—to the girl in the next cell to her own. Old and dilapidated, the widow's domicile looked the very picture of desolation and misery. The others hurried to the window. Wood, who appeared to be collecting her energies for a terrible explosion, "in the hope that they may prove acceptable. It is dull—deadly dull. The bus however was full. “And to-night we are friends?” “We are friends,” said Ann Veronica, and drew her hand quickly away from him. And most of the others she had met had, she felt, the same steadfastness.
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