On her lapel was an ivory button, bearing the words “Votes for Women. ‘Who is that man? What has he to do with you? No, don’t tell me. How did you like Tristan?” Ann Veronica paused the fraction of a second before her reply came. Her eye wandered quickly over that riotous and disorderly assemblage, until it settled upon one group more riotous and disorderly than the rest, of which her son formed the principal figure. And this time the departure had a tremendous effect of finality. Something, then, to appease the wrath of God; something to blunt this persistent agony. As she averted her gaze, a terrible idea crossed her.
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