He had said change and she had heard (or willfully misinterpreted) that as revolution. He may as well have taken his political ambitions out to the garden and shot them point-blank with a pistol: they were dead when this got out. And it would get out. She may have leaned in, but of course people were still listening, and now he was going to be branded revolutionary, and he had been in the game long enough to know that revolutionaries did not win elections. Part of him wanted to say something doubly shocking at this point and at least go out with a bang rather than a whimper, assuming there was no way to salvage this. Maybe he could just glibly say that if the women of Britain rallied together to overthrow the status quo he'd let Thomasina manage it.

Actually, maybe that wasn't the worst approach. Not Thomasina specifically, of course, because he knew her well enough to know she had no interest in stepping away from the hospital and taking over the reorganization of voting rights, but letting someone else bear the brunt of the decisions might still let him pull his head back from the guillotine on this issue.

"I think revolution is the inevitable consequence when those in positions of power refuse to listen to the concerns of those they have power over. That is hardly controversial; it's an observable historical fact," he began. "So I do think that ignoring the issue entirely would lead down that road — but I would hardly suggest that a revolution is the best or only way to satisfy the underlying needs. The time for reform is now, and if our government misses the window for reform then we'll face revolution. But as regards the specifics of that reform — it would be rather hypocritical for me, having said all this, to pretend that my opinion on the issue is the only one that matters. A committee on voting reform seems like the soundest choice," he announced, feeling more confident in this path with each word.

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