Jacques felt bleak, a vast, aching emptiness unfolding in his head, like a gray wool blanket to muffle everything. "I... I'm sure you're right," he lied, pushing himself up and fumbling in his pockets. "Right. Here you are, Citoyenne." He handed over a slightly ink-stained handkerchief. "I am a member of the Jacobin Club- we all were. Have you ever gone in to hear a speech there?"