“The Vote is the symbol of everything,” said Miss Brett. Then for a time she sat very still. Have you ever heard the name of Meysey Hill?” “Meysey Hill?” He repeated it after her, and she knew at once from his tone and his quick glance into her face that the name possessed some significance for him. For a time he and Miss Klegg contradicted one another. “I saw—they knocked off your fetters yesterday. At the thought of the major, her tears redoubled and she was obliged to rip off a piece from the remnants of her already maltreated underpetticoats with which to blow her nose and soak the damp from her cheeks. Since morning he had become fanatical; the atoms of common sense no longer functioned in the accustomed groove. They took her fingerprints sitting at the gray metal desk of Officer Nolte, the virile young buck who had brought her in.
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