Don’t touch the handle, Annabel! Curse the thing, you’ve jammed it now. One of his converted Kanakas dropped in one day. “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. . ’ She frowned suddenly. "Suppose we go and have tea? I'd like to take you to a teahouse I know, but we'll go to the Victoria instead. A few minutes later she left the house on foot, and taking a hansom at the corner of the Square, drove to Anna’s flat. “I’m damned if I’ll believe it,” he muttered to himself savagely.
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