"Then I would buy some paper—a quantity of it—and I would write yards and yards of resolutions stating that 'it can never be legalized without sin.'"
"And then?"
"Then I should pray a whole lot—and pursue the even tenor of my way; and if my conscience should assert itself in the face of all this, I should think it too cranky a conscience to be humored."
"What about the woman?"
Jean smiled.
"Woman? Women," she said, "have notions. To save their lives they cannot see the use in wasting paper and prayers. They would DO something. Women—some women—believe in standing right with God and conscience though the heavens fall."
"So do some men," said Allison, gravely.
Jean started slightly. The tone of his voice, the look of his eye, conveyed to her the knowledge that somewhere, somehow, since she had seen him last he had been awakened.
Involuntarily she clasped her hands and in the passing glance she gave him Gilbert Allison caught a glimpse of the heaven that orthodox people say follows the resurrection of the just.