‘Did you sigh and flutter your eyelashes?’ ‘Certainly I did. 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. Lucy felt her eyes misting up, turning traitor. He took her to Burger King, still amused by her taste in food. “Don’t you know?” “Oh! I know—” “Well—” Her face was an unaccustomed pink.
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