They were greeted by an uproar in the audience. It was as if the long tense attention had to burst out now, as if a match had been set to a bonfire and the whole room blazed with emotion. From one section of the room there were boos and groans, and when Grace heard this she stood up and began shouting she did not know what, rage and enthusiasm mixed in incoherent passionate words. Some people applauded her; others turned to stare at her; a few shouted back, but now she was on her feet, caught up in a wave of excitement, nothing could stop her. “Don’t you understand what’s happening here?” she shouted. “We have to defend the Republic as that brave man did.…” She had pushed George roughly aside, but now a guard reached the aisle and she felt a hand over her mouth. Before she knew what was really happening, she had been hauled out of her chair and was being forcibly though gently pushed through the crowd, some of whom watched passively, fascinated, no doubt, by the sight of this man lifting an old lady out by main force. She did not struggle, she was too surprised. The chairman was pounding with his gavel as she called back, “You can’t do this,” just before the doors closed behind her. Then she, George and Pen found themselves outside, closely followed by the cameramen who had got some action at last.

She was panting so much with exertion and emotion that for a moment she couldn’t speak, pinning back her pin which had come undone, pulling her hat back into shape.

“Dirty disgusting business,” George said through his teeth. Grace saw that he was dead white.

Pen looked as if she might be going to cry. “I didn’t know Damon had it in him.”

“Well”—Grace surveyed them in the flush of her triumph—“there’s one courageous man left anyway. Edward would have been proud. We can hold up our heads again—at last.”

“We’d better get out of here.” George was suddenly aware of the circle of grinning faces around them, cameras pointed. “Your name, please?” one of them asked Grace, notebook ready.

“It’s none of your damned business.” George made a dive for the camera and missed it.

“I’m glad to give my name. Grace Kimlock is my name,” Grace said clearly and with perfect dignity. “You can say if you will that the liberals aren’t dead yet.” Did anyone but herself get the nuance in this? It was the accolade to Damon, the first time she had ever used the word “liberal” in a congratulatory sense. Then she added, with a kind of bravado, her chin lifted, her eyes twinkling, “I haven’t been put out of a courtroom since the Sacco-Vanzetti case.”

“Your age, Miss Kimlock?”

“Seventy-five.”

“Quite a girl,” one of the men said, and they all laughed.