END OF THE FIRST EPOCH. What she did not know, and what she was never to know, was that the divine fire was hers. No matter how often she came across this phase in love stories, there was never anything explanatory: as if all human beings perfectly understood. 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. There was a look in her eyes which puzzled him. ‘I’ve had enough of this. Saint Giles's Round-house XIII. “I’ve been through all that,” she went on, after a pause.
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