"All these people," she said, "are pushing
things about, affecting millions of lives, hurting and disordering
hundreds of thousands of people. They don't seem to know what they
are doing. They have no plans in particular.... And you are getting
something going that will be a plan and a direction and a conscience
and a control for them? You will find my father extremely difficult, but
some of our younger men would love it.
"And," she went on; "there are American women who'd love it too. We're
petted. We're kept out of things. We aren't placed. We don't get enough
to do. We're spenders and wasters--not always from choice. While these
fathers and brothers and husbands of ours play about with the fuel and
power and life and hope of the world as though it was a game of poker.
With all the empty unspeakable solemnity of the male. And treat us as
though we ought to be satisfied if they bring home part of the winnings.
"That can't go on," she said.
Her eyes went back to the long, low, undulating skyline of the downs.
She spoke as though she took up the thread of some controversy that had
played a large part in her life. "That isn't going on," she said with an
effect of conclusive decision.
Sir Richmond recalled that little speech now as he returned from
Salisbury station to the Old George after his farewell to Martineau.
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