"No, no, mother, they don't do that."
"I tell you what it makes me feel, Alston: it makes me feel fat."
"Madame Beattie weighs twenty pounds more than you do, and she's not so tall by three inches."
"And then I realise that when women say they want to vote, it isn't because they're all piously set on saving the country. It's because they've peeped over the fence and got an idea of the game, and they're crazy to be in it."
"But, mother, there's no game, except a dirty one of graft and politics. There's nothing in it."
"No," said Mrs. Choate. "There isn't in most games. But people play them."
"You don't think Amabel is in it for the game?"
"Oh, no! Amabel's a saint. It wouldn't take more than a basket of wood and a bunch of matches to make her a martyr."
"But, mother," said Alston, "you belong to the antis."
"Do I?" asked his mother. "Yes, I believe I do."