Rather! Who could help it?” He towered up over her and smiled down at her in his fatherly way. “I do,” he answered. But tell me one thing I don’t understand—tell me one thing: How can you help it by coming down into the battle and the mire? That’s the thing that concerns me. Of the women felons' rooms nothing has yet been said. I knew it. She’s taken my sword. Even in this dread moment Ruth was conscious of a pathetic interest in the scattering pencils. He was a large oafish man, a man that seemed deceptively harmless, and some thought him slightly retarded. Unless women are never to be free, never to be even respected, there must be a generation of martyrs.
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