"Only in the sense of giving us something to play. We can't just—just live it."
"Why can't we?"
With a quick movement she was on her feet, flinging out her hands.
"For all the reasons that I should think you'd see." She came and stood on the hearth-rug, confronting me. "Billy, I wonder if you have the faintest idea of what I'm doing for your sake?"
"I've more than the faintest idea, Vio. Some day, when we're able to talk more easily than we are as yet, I shall tell you how grateful I am. Just now I'm—I'm rather dazed. I have to get my bearings—"
She, too, had taken a cigarette, lighting it nervously, carelessly, puffing rapidly at the thing and moving about the room.
"And there's another thing," she began, taking no notice of what I was trying to say; "I don't mind your talking as you did just now, so long as it's—as it's through your hat; but if it isn't—"
"I can't say that it is."
"That's just what I was afraid of. In the places where you've been—I don't want to know anything about them," she interjected, with a passionate gesture of the hand that held the cigarette, "but in such places men do pick up revolutionary ideas, just as they do in prisons!"
"I don't know that it's a question of getting revolutionary ideas, Vio, so much as it's one of living in a revolutionary world."