"Let me see," replied Wood; "exactly twelve years ago last November. But such is the perversity of the human that frequently thereafter he purposely
crooked the part in his hair, to give her the excuse to fetch the comb. Contrasted with the confused
movement and presences of a Fabian meeting, or the inexplicable enthusiasm
behind the suffrage demand, with the speeches that were partly egotistical
displays, partly artful manoeuvres, and partly incoherent cries for unsoundly
formulated ends, compared with the comings and goings of audiences and
supporters that were like the eddy-driven drift of paper in the street, this long,
quiet, methodical chamber shone like a star seen through clouds. She could not help herself. —Strype's Stow.
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