“My heart, my dove, I only want to heal you. He was a London man of business, spending a small legacy in Paris. I was resolved to see you. “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. She had left for ever the cage, the galling leash: she was free. They lived in a castle, the same place she had been turned in. “We parted— that night the best of friends. It was a gracious gesture, she thought, as he trudged to the Beck’s humble doorstep in his stiff blue polyester uniform. Everything in this world changed—except human folly. “Good-bye,” he said earnestly. ‘Though we might have done, if a certain addlepated clothhead hadn’t let her get away. I have worn it for weeks and weeks.
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