There was something holding women down, holding women back, and if it wasn’t exactly man-made law, man-made law was an aspect of it. Jack Sheppard is to me what Thames Darrell is to you—an object of hatred. The tired woman looked up in inquiring silence at Ann Veronica’s diffident entry. And yet, often when alone, he wondered: had McClintock been wrong, or had she ceased to care in that way? The possibility that she no longer cared should have filled him with unalloyed happiness, whereas it depressed him, cut the natural vanity of youth into shreds and tatters. ‘It is not easy. He would read the jokes and illustrate them; and after a time I could see the point of a joke without having it explained to me. Now it is—’ ‘What are you doing still here, missie, that’s what I’d like to know?’ demanded the man Trodger, sticking to his guns.
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