His eyes looked a little bloodshot to her; his face had lost something of its ruddy freshness. "But don't ever let me see them again. There are times when you make me feel a little thing at your feet—a young, silly, protected thing. ” He took them from her and read them. “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. This was what he missed. He paused at the bamboo curtain of her room, which was in semi-darkness.
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