Do you want me, too?” “Yes,” she whispered foolishly, in the throes of rapture. She lost it in the Mint. “You have changed somehow—and you certainly are less friendly. However, come along. ” Brendon laughed softly. She wondered abjectly whether he intended to rape her before she was dead. 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. It was enough that she witnessed it and could not go to him.
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