“I cannot conceive,” he said, “how any other occupation could ever have occurred to you. As the Wastrel played, Spurlock knew that the man saw the inevitable end—death by drink; saw the glory of the things he had thrown away, the past, once so full of promise. “Freedom! Citizenship! And the way to that—the way to everything—is the Vote. He made it impossible not to respond, his arms tightening deliciously around hers. Beyond was a chaise longue, covered with cushions and shawls laid anyhow across it, together with a discarded tapestry in the making, and a scattering of woollen threads about it. ‘You see, it is that I am a female, and you all are men. He did make her perceive something of the acute, tormenting desire for her that had arisen in him and possessed him.
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