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Sheppard's weight had destroyed the equilibrium of the plank: it swerved, and slowly descended. And yet the secondary emotion was one of suspicion. The doctor reached over and laid his hand upon Spurlock's heart. The doctor laughed. “You will be so late. Were I a painter of subject pictures, I would exhaust all my skill in proportion and perspective and atmosphere upon the august seat of empire, I would present it gray and dignified and immense and respectable beyond any mere verbal description, and then, in vivid black and very small, I would put in those valiantly impertinent vans, squatting at the base of its altitudes and pouring out a swift, straggling rush of ominous little black objects, minute figures of determined women at war with the universe. ‘Yes, that is reasonable.
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