“And now,” she said, splintering the surviving piece of coal into indignant flame-spurting fragments with one dexterous blow, “what am I to do? “I’m in a hole!—mess is a better word, expresses it better. We were talking about the suffrage—and I rather scoffed. She tried to be casual. You represent to me an enigma, the solution of which has become the one desire of my life. At any rate, here I am, and here I shall be, twenty thousand feet above all your poison-reeking cities, up where God’s wind comes fresh from heaven, very near indeed to the untrodden snows. “It seems so unfair,” she said, “to take all you offer me and give so little in return.
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