He felt her relaxation and let go of her wrists. Beneath the serene unconcern of Ann Veronica’s face was a boiling tumult. I want to love him. A mosquito had been trapped inside and was perfectly preserved for thousands of years. “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.
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