You must forgive the poet’s license I take. 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. He had thought it might have that effect. Every eye seemed focussed upon her; and yet she had known the sensation to be the conceit of her imagination. 6.
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