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She would never admit that she couldn’t keep up.
She didn’t have the advantages of a university degree. She hadn’t had a decade of quiet evenings to read for self-improvement.
“Well, Jung’s theory of the collective unconscious posits that—”
Her knowledge was all from hard life experiences, and some carefully cultivated tastes.
“I don’t think so, Inspector, have you read the latest publications saying that— ”
Too many men had tried to talk down to her. She had been in far too many sticky situations: she always had to act like the best, brightest, and fastest person in the room.
“Doctor, I’m sorry, but I disagree — his theories on criminal psychology are completely off-base—”
She could never show how much she didn’t know — how much she hadn’t read — she would never be so foolish as to show weakness.
“Well, if you’re going to have such a reductionist approach to to this matter, Inspector—”
She refilled some drinks as her two guests wrangled. She had definitely been quiet far too long; it was time to launch in: “Well, at the end of day, what do these professors in cozy offices know about criminal behaviour? It would do them some good to meet an actual murderer and then tell me it’s a matter of defective glands, or psychological repression or whatnot.”
That got both of their attentions, and they all started hashing over actual cases they had known.
She would never let on when she couldn’t keep up. But it was nice to be in a room where she had nothing to prove.