“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. After what seemed like an eternity he turned right onto a dirt road that ended unceremoniously at a copse of leafless trees. It’s an instinct. The Project Gutenberg EBook of Ann Veronica, by H. Here I am as an alternative either to nasty work—or going home. Little more’n a week. Why had he kissed her? What had led him into that? Neither love nor passion— utter blankness so far as reducing the act to terms. He then spoke with a certain fatherly kindliness of the past. "Most persons would have guessed my meaning.
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