She watched for five minutes until he completely disappeared over Pine Crest, past the yellow fire hydrant and the dented stop sign. There was a Greyhound bus that she was overdue to ride. “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 put down the sketch-books and apparatus she had brought with her, pulled out her stool, and sat down. Gerald, meanwhile, was off hunting up these lawyers, together with your son, ma’am—’ turning to Mrs Sindlesham ‘—and you know the outcome of that. “Hainault, Celeste’s friend.
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