She cursed the treachery of memory, its frailty and spottiness. He glanced at Ruth (who had stood with her back to the wall, pinned there throughout the contest by terror and the knowledge of her own helplessness), then at the bronze menace, and calculated correctly that this particular adventure was finished. "It's more than I am," muttered Thames. She loved him. But Jack and his companion were already gone. The peculiar appearance of the sky was not without some influence in awakening these terrors. “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. ‘You usually do,’ he said lightly.
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