"Hear me out," said Jonathan. She stepped back quickly, and her hand knocked a wine-glass from the table to smash noisily on the floor. But underneath this tolerance there is always the vague hope that your manhood will someday reassert itself. She was sore with the perplexities of her preposterous position. Their faces were masks of abject horror, sunken and shriveled, their cheekbones protruding. She saw herself begin a slow, sinuous dance: and stop suddenly in the middle of a figure, conscious that the dance was not impromptu, her own, but native—the same dance she had quitted but a few minutes gone.
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