“If Dr. Murray found out…”

“If you really think he’d care then make sure he doesn’t. Now, this is your route. There are enough for both sides of Banbury, between Bevington and St. Margaret’s Road.”

The route included Sunnyside. I continued to hesitate.

“You live in Jericho, don’t you?”

I nodded.

“It’s not that far out of your way,” she said. “Bill, go with her.”

“What about you?” I asked.

“No one will be surprised to see me taking the night air without a chaperone, but you need a man on your arm. More’s the pity.”

There were few people to greet as we walked up St. Giles’: one other couple and a band of drunken gowns, ostentatiously polite as they split to move around us. As St. Giles’ turned into Banbury, the way ahead was deserted. My anxiety fell back, and regret about my reluctance rose to take its place.

“Shall I do it?” Bill asked as we approached the first letterbox beyond Bevington Road.

Bill knew what I knew—that I was different from those women. That I might agree with them but did not have the guts to stand in the midst of them. I shook my head as he reached for the package. He transferred his hand to the small of my back, and I was grateful for the strength of it. I pulled on the bow Tilda had tied and let the paper wrapping fall back from the leaflets. An image of an imprisoned woman accused me of apathy.