He began a jerky, broken conversation that lasted until they reached the station, and left her puzzled at its drift and meaning. Miss Klegg raised the question of women’s suffrage, and he set himself to provoke a duel between her and Miss Garvice. They travelled past the few idle sightseers who had braved the uninviting evening to see what the Suffragettes might be doing; they pulled up unchallenged within thirty yards of those coveted portals. His name was Sebastianus. She made herself a private declaration of liberty. The beach: to get there as quickly as he could, to reach the white man's nadir of abasement and gather the promise of that soothing indifference which comes with the final disintegration of the fibres of conscience. I don’t want to know.
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