“What is a ballot-box like, exactly?” she asked, as though it was very important to her. Why? Love was a word of God's, and yet her father had denied it—denied it to the Book, denied it to his own flesh and blood. Wood became sensible that he was not alone. After all, if one could wait twenty years or more in between bouts of lovemaking, one could certainly wait a few more days. "Ha! say you so? You must be looked to. I'll wait for you down here. She had been obliged to wait all morning for the opportunity to talk to Martha, who chose always to retire to her cell for the period of recreation that preceded afternoon prayers. Tea in the laboratory was a sort of suffragette reception.
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