Sensing his discomfort, she stood up and brushed lint off of the hem of her gray miniskirt. It was time to disappear, no more Becks, no more Spaghetti Nights, no more afternoon kisses in the park with John Diedermayer. She meditated profoundly through several enormous cold hours on all that had happened and all that she had done since the swirl of the suffrage movement had submerged her personal affairs. "But never mind who, or what I am. But though she lied about pretty much everything else, she didn’t lie about that. Anything else that was said she now regarded only as an aspect of or diversion from that. Small blame to her.
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