He pulled away. ‘Oh, Marthe,’ she groaned, using in her accustomed way the French version of her nurse’s name, ‘that pig is going to monsieur le baron. “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. ‘I can’t tell you the times I’ve wished for a gun to point at Hilary’s head. As the body was borne to the house in the arms of the farming-men, Mr. "I never told anybody," she went on. Think! Had you not better hurry back before Sir John discovers? You are his wife right enough.
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