Disgust touched Anne. She had felt the man's spirit, but now his body obstructed her vision. She could think of nothing but those scarred hands, and wide, rather heavy lips caressing the clean daintiness of the girl.
"It makes me sick," she said in a tight, hard tone. "A leader of men, a kind of prophet of the oppressed living like that! It's sickening."
Roger looked at her quickly. "What has his private life to do with it? He is a leader, a prophet."
"It has a lot to do with it. For a moment there, he looked as if he were really seeing visions, clean, high, unselfish ideals. It's a pity he can't see himself and—and that child."
"Rubbish, Anne. She's no child. He probably didn't kidnap her."
"Nor will Hilary Wainwright and those men Tom O'Connell despises kidnap the strike-breakers," Anne went on hotly. "They will come of their own free wills—'the poor, deluded victims, fooled with promises.'"
Roger looked at her helplessly. He wished he had not taken Anne's arm, because now, he could not very well drop it. If he did, Anne would think he was angry. And he was not angry.
They walked on again in silence, until Anne asked with a pecking, personal intrusion into the calm he had captured again in the silence:
"Does Katya Orloff live with some one too?"
"I don't know," Roger answered impatiently. "Really, Anne, I don't know anything about the private lives of any of them."