‘So this is Pottiswick’s French spy. “‘A SONG OF LADIES AND MY LADY “‘Saintly white and a lily is Mary, Margaret’s violets, sweet and shy; Green and dewy is Nellie-bud fairy, Forget-me-nots live in Gwendolen’s eye. ’ She ended on a note of sheer frustration, clenched fists beating the air. Then she shrugged. “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. Under the somewhat trying incandescent light her cheeks pleaded guilty to a recent use of the powder puff. She could not keep herself from reaching orgasm, and could barely contain the desire to claw him as she came and her canines expanded.
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