For thirty years I have lived alone; but once upon a time I lived among men. “I’ll run, too,” she volunteered. 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. My friend the doctor suspected it, and so do I. God! I have cheated myself into a belief that the boy perished! And now my worst fears are realized —he lives!" "As yet," returned Jonathan, with fearful emphasis. "Is that all? Then learn from me that your hopes are visionary as their foundation. But after all, what did it matter whether she had secrets or not? To him she was not a woman but a symbol; and one did not investigate the antecedents of symbols.
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