“It’s a matter of feeling with me. "Fire!—murder—thieves!—I've got one of 'em!" "Come along," cried Jack. She sank upon her knees and unbuttoned his coat. Such a beautiful boy he is, but his intelligence is marginal. “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. For a pity, she has chosen to remain, and it has been her death. Until two hours ago she was as contented and as happy as a linnet.
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