“Well, I don’t want you to talk to him,” he said, very firmly. She dared not say the word aloud, not even to herself. Do you know, I envy you. She found herself again in the presence of some element in life about which she had been trained not to think, about which she was perhaps instinctively indisposed to think; something which jarred, in spite of all her mental resistance, with all her preconceptions of a clean and courageous girl walking out from Morningside Park as one walks out of a cell into a free and spacious world. She was almost tempted to tell him, if only to see the cracks of surprise and incredulity break the immobility of his yellow countenance. “I want to know more about this movement,” said Ann Veronica.
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