Olivia felt the remorse of those convicted of an unpardonable crime.
“I’ll get a copy to-morrow at the bookstall at Victoria Station.”
Agnes smiled in her haggard way. “My dear, an organ like The Signal doesn’t lie on the bookstalls, like Comic Cuts or The Fortnightly Review. It’s posted to private subscribers, or it’s given away at meetings.”
“Who pays for the printing of it?” asked the practical Olivia, who had learned from Triona something of the wild leap in cost of printed matter.
“Aubrey Dawkins finds the money. He gets it in the City. He has given up his heart and soul to The Signal.”
“I’ve made an enemy for life,” said Olivia penitently.
Miss Blenkiron reassured her. “Oh, no you haven’t. We haven’t time for enemy making here. Our business is too important.”
Olivia in a maze asked:
“What is your business?”
“Why, my dear child, the Social Revolution. Didn’t you know?”