‘Let it fall!’ ‘Brute!’ she spat, struggling, and he knew at once he had guessed aright. He had been dreaming of Ruth—an old recurrency of that dream he had had in Canton, of Ruth leading him to the top of the mountain. “What on earth did you expect me to do, then?” he asked. ‘But we—mon mari and myself—we have the bonne chance. “I wish I could make every woman, every girl, see this as clearly as I see it—just what the Vote means to us. She will die if she knows I have a gun. Women, she had been taught, who exposed the flesh of their bodies under the eyes of man were in a special catagory of the damned. ’ He turned to the lodgekeeper behind him, whose shocked fear had given place to a direful frown. They are tending to congregate, our poor French friends. Majorities, right or wrong, dare not revolt. Down there, whisky raises the very devil with white men.
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