. ’ ‘You are perfectly correct,’ agreed Gerald at once. ‘Here we go again. There were more of us back then, and we weren’t seen as ghouls, in fact, in Greece and the time before we were worshipped as gods. There he sat, cheerfully friendly in his sex’s freedom—the man she loved, the one man she cared should unlock the way to the wide world for her imprisoned feminine possibilities, and he seemed regardless that she stifled under his eyes; he made a jest of all this passionate insurgence of the souls of women against the fate of their conditions. That was how she projected it, and in general terms it seemed plausible and possible. I believed that she was my wife, or she would have been safe from me. I was happy to oblige them, I had grown sick of the heat of the south and all the miserable sun. I told her it was the end. She was very pale, and there was a look of fear in her eyes.
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