“I’m so glad you’re here, Peter,” she said. His cigar burnt out between his fingers, and he threw it impatiently away. For hours he seemed to have pleasant dreams of open skies and airplanes, but then the dreams would disintegrate into fleshy charnel house nightmares where he could hear her calling to him through a fog. “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. There was a pint of champagne and a quart of mineral water (both taboo) at his elbow. Only I wish—I wish to-day I was a thousand times, ten thousand times more beautiful. The man was my husband. But there was something in his face at once stupid and invincible that told her he would go on forcing himself upon her, that he would esteem speech with her a great point gained. Sebastian rose from the tomb. She held it by the neck and broke the end of the bottle on the hard dirt. “So you come from Anna, do you?” she remarked. I suppose if one were to love some one, one would feel doubtful.
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