There was something holding women down, holding women back, and if it wasn’t exactly man-made law, man-made law was an aspect of it. Annabel entered. There was the motor accident, too. It looked very patient, she thought, and a little self-satisfied. “You must arrest me!” she gasped, breathlessly, insisting insanely on a point already carried; “you shall!” The police-station at the end seemed to Ann Veronica like a refuge from unnamable disgraces. One or two of the tables were occupied by groups of fat frowzy women in flat caps, with rings on their thumbs, and baskets by their sides; and no one who had listened for a single moment to their coarse language and violent abuse of each other, would require to be told they were fish-wives from Billingsgate.
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