Sybil Crawley

In all honesty, Combeferre might have reacted differently, had they been in Paris, or even England, and a young woman like the one sitting across from him had wanted to take part in a political even that might have turned dangerous. But here there was enough distance to soften such instinctual concerns, and he was left merely admiring her courage and determination. Combeferre had long insisted that women, given the smallest opportunity and education, would surely leap at the chance to have their voices heard, and provide perspective that men never could. The women who populated Darrow wore trousers, and too any number of jobs, and even held political office, and that was a wonder. But Sybil, who had lived somewhere between his own time and current one, and who had been handed scraps of rights and insisted on using them to the fullest extent while fighting for more, she was something to see.

It was breathtaking. She was… rather breathtaking.

"I like to think that is what happened," Combeferre said thoughtfully. "My understanding is that Darrow resembles our future, more or less. I think it's fair to say that the energy you saw that day did not go to waste. The People demanded what should rightfully be theirs - health, and well-being, and freedom, and self-determination - and they got it. As we always do, eventually."