Containing a sort of epiphany.

Hannah and her circle of activists had dragged a T.V. into the lounge of Friendly Hall to watch Ninety Minutes communally. The atmosphere there suited the name, with its coffee machine gurgling in a corner emitting pleasant odors while students laughed and talked. Headquarters had wandered from Condon to Friendly at the suggestion of Delilah, a French major; support for the strike was strong among language majors, dominated by women anyway.

Hannah was smiling as she listened to her mother's optimistic analysis of the success of the strike, but at the excerpts from Carrie's lecture her expression changed to one of consternation. Pain and rage rose up from the region of her gut and got stuck in her throat, transforming itself in the process to an alarming temptation to cry. The closing door came back to her, and along with it the feeling of fatalism and helplessness. What happened after the door closed came back to her too. She hated him, hated him with a passion, hated him for being such an unfeeling prick, for having such an unwelcome prick. And it was not pleasant, and he did not show her a good time: it was disgusting and degrading and humiliating.

Finally Hannah understood why she had taken her mother's action to Eugene, why she had gotten up on the Pioneer Mother's lap and insulted the Frat Brat and stormed Condon. And why she had come to feel so strongly about it. Hannah was fighting to keep the Jesses of the world from treating others the way he had treated her, fighting for a world in which women could be gullible and wouldn't be punished for it.

Maybe she was her mother's daughter after all.