One day they were at tea in the laboratory and a discussion sprang up about the question of women’s suffrage. “I’ll go,” she vowed to the night, “or I’ll die!” She made plans and estimated means and resources. “There is my aunt,” she said. ” “Have you been getting enough sleep lately, Martin?” He almost tripped. When Sheila was in a good mood, one almost enjoyed her. She was listed for the raid—she was informed it was to be a raid upon the House of Commons, though no particulars were given her—and told to go alone to 14, Dexter Street, Westminster, and not to ask any policeman to direct her. Believe me, the bitterness of it has almost departed, crushed out of me together with much of the weariness and sorrow I brought with me here by the nameless glory of these lonely months. ‘It is London’s loss, ma’am.
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