She knew that in her new rôle she was as likely as not to be a rank failure. “Not like it’s your fault if you wake up one day and decide you hanker for a nice piece of ass, a ten-minute tumble. She bought her Greyhound ticket one steamy afternoon when school let out at eleven thirty A. Melusine tilted her head to catch sight of her neck, and froze, staring at the image. Very slowly emerging out of a phase of stupefaction, these personal affairs and her personal problem resumed possession of her mind. "Won't you be persuaded, Joan?" he added, making a similar offer to Mrs. " "Do not talk thus, dear mother," returned Jack, gazing anxiously at her pale countenance, "or I shall not be able to quit you. There’s nothing happened at all!” She didn’t mean, he concluded, to give him any more trouble ever, and he was free to begin a fresh chromatic novel—he had just finished the Blue Lagoon, which he thought very beautiful and tender and absolutely irrelevant to Morningside Park—or work in peace at his microtome without bothering about her in the least. “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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