A shudder rippled across his shoulders. “Why should women be dependent on men?” she asked; and the question was at once converted into a system of variations upon the theme of “Why are things as they are?”—“Why are human beings viviparous?”—“Why are people hungry thrice a day?”—“Why does one faint at danger?” She stood for a time looking at the dry limbs and still human face of that desiccated unwrapped mummy from the very beginnings of social life. What he needed most in this hour was a bottle of American rye-whisky and a friendly American bar-keep to talk to. Her tone was icy. Don't lay it all to the boy. It is Thérèse. “But how is it all going to end?” said Mr. The image of Major Alderley came into her mind.
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