She pulled at his tee shirt again, wishing to feel his naked chest upon hers. He had assumed that her leaving home was the point at issue, that everything turned on that, and that the sole alternative was obedience, and she had fallen in with that assumption until rebellion seemed a sacred principle. There was nothing in the pockets of the coat. “Among other things, you know, I didn’t understand quite—I didn’t understand that you were so keenly interested in this suffrage question. You want industry—you want steadiness. She said that? To be closer to you?” “I think she is plotting something, though I cannot guess what. She fought a compulsive urge to yank his shirt free. A woman cannot change her soul.
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