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But one day he came to me. The tourist season would soon be at ebb, and it would be late in September before the tide returned. “Before I took up the Suffrage,” a firm, flat voice remarked, “I could scarcely walk up-stairs without palpitations. “No one asks you to care for them. There had been disappointments and humiliations, and although she hated to admit it even to herself, she was in desperate straits. Men had tried to kiss her— unshaven derelicts, some of them terrible—but she had always managed to escape. The risk I run is nothing to yours.
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