’ ‘Where are we going?’ ‘Back to Blaye, my girl. My politics in that matter wouldn’t be to give women votes. ‘You’ve found her out?’ ‘Tell us at once,’ urged Miss Froxfield. Women and men had always flocked to him, covetous of his knowledge, his riches, and if all else failed, his carnal expertise. The dream flowers and is harvested, and we are left by the wayside, having served our singular purpose in the scheme of progress: as the orange is tossed aside when sucked of its ruddy juice. Give me my pistol and my dagger.
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