” Sir John, frankly oblivious of the possibility of passers-by, took her into his arms and kissed her. She fluttered her eyelashes, and adopted the soulful tone that served her well at times. Her sadness was manageable only because she was so familiar with its phases, because she could observe its moods remotely, like an astronomer studying the moon. There must be something we can do. Ramage seemed always fencing about the forbidden topic, probing for openings, and she wondered why she did not give him them. ” Michelle shrugged. Unless women are never to be free, never to be even respected, there must be a generation of martyrs.
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