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It ought never to have begun. Hill sat up on the pavement and mopped the blood from his cheek. ‘Bête!’ Gerald caught her hand as she pulled it back to deliver another blow. She had to think of something fast, or her reaction would start to make believers out of everyone. 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. ‘Let go!’ ‘Do you take me for a fool?’ Gerald demanded.
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