You don't know England, it's clear.

Supposing for one moment I could consent--and I couldn't--we should be found out to a certainty, and then Michael's career would be ruined.
"My religion, though I sometimes weary of it and sneer at it, is Women's Rights: women must have precisely the same rights as men, no disqualification whatever based merely on their being women.

Did you read those disgusting letters in the _Times_ by the surgeon, the midwifery man, Sir Wrigsby Blane?
Declaring that the demand for the Vote was based on immorality, and pretending that once a month, till they were fifty, and for several years _after_ they were fifty, women were not responsible for their actions, because of what he vaguely called 'physiological processes.' What poisonous rubbish! You know as well as I do that in most cases it makes little or no difference; and if it does, what about men?
Aren't _they_ at certain times not their normal selves?
When they're full up with wine or beer or whiskey, when they're courting, when they're pursuing some illicit love, when after fifty they get a little odd in their ways through this, that and the other internal trouble or change of function?
What's true of the one sex is equally true of the other.
Most men and women between twenty and sixty jolly well know what they want, and generally they want something reasonable.

We don't legislate for the freaks, the unbalanced, the abnormal; or if we do restrict the vote in those cases, let's restrict it for males as well as females--But don't you see at the same time what a text I should furnish to this malign creature if I ran away to Paris with Michael, and made the slightest false step ...

even though it had no bearing on the main argument ?..." At this juncture Vivie, whose obsession leads her more and more to address every one as a public meeting--is interrupted by the smiling _bonne a tout faire_ who announces that _le dejeuner de Madame est servi_, and the two women gathering up books and shawls go in to the gay little _saile-a-manger_ of the Villa Beau-sejour.
On Vivie's return to London, after her Easter holiday, she threw herself with added zest into the Suffrage struggle.