She read for half an hour, then closed the book because Spurlock appeared to have fallen asleep. She tried not to notice how much attention Martin Chen had been paying her, but he had been bold enough to speak to her the other day. The youth with his hair like Russell cleared his throat and said rather irrelevantly that he knew a man who knew Thomas Bayard Simmons, who had rioted in the Strangers’ Gallery, and then Capes, finding them all distinctly pro-Ann Veronica, if not profeminist, ventured to be perverse, and started a vein of speculation upon the Scotchman’s idea—that there were still hopes of women evolving into something higher. He had only been prevented, indeed, by a fear of Mrs.
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