all men, with but few exceptions,
have sexual life before marriage, but they insist that their wives come
to them in that state of absurd ignorance of their own bodily functions
and consequent lack of exercise of them, which they denominate 'purity.'
...

"I doubt if there is a solitary man in this audience--a married man--who
has not had premarital intercourse with women."

All the while I kept my eye on Professor Wilton, who sat near me, in the
row ahead ... he was flushing furiously in angry, puritanic dissent ...
and I knew him well enough to foresee a forthcoming outburst of protest.

"Yes, I think I can safely say that there is not one married man here
who can honestly claim that he came to his wife with that same physical
'purity' which he required of her."

Wilton leaped to his feet in a fury ... the good, simple soul. He was
so indignant that the few white hairs on his head worked up sizzling
with his emotion....

"_Here's one!_" he shouted, forgetting in his earnest anger the
assembled audience, most of whom knew him.

There followed such an uproar of merriment as I have never seen the like
before nor since. The students, of course, howled with indescribable joy
... Emma Silverman choked with laughter. Jack Leitman rolled over the
side table on which he had set the books to sell as the crowd passed
out--

After the deafening cries, cat-calls and uproars, Emma grew serious.

"I don't know who you are," she cried to Professor Wilton, "but I'll
take chances in telling you that you're a liar!"

Again Wilton was on his feet in angry protest.

"Shame on you, woman! have you no shame!" he shouted.

This sally brought the house down utterly. The boys hooted and
cat-called and stamped again....

Emma Silverman laughed till the tears streamed down her face....

* * * * *

During the four days she remained in Laurel her lectures were crowded.

* * * * *

Walking up the hill one day, I overtook Professor Wilton, under whom I
had studied botany, and whom I liked, knowing he was sincere and had
spoken the incredible though absolute truth.

"That woman, that anarchist friend of yours, Gregory, is a coarse
woman!"

I rose to Emma's defence ... but he kept repeating ... "no, no ... she
is nothing but a coarse, depraved woman."

* * * * *

At my instigation, the Sig-Kaps gave an afternoon tea for her. And I was