But that was soon put right, and she walked out into London with a peculiar exaltation of mind, an exaltation that partook of panic and defiance, but was chiefly a sense of vast unexampled release. “Is that all you have to say?” Michelle challenged her. Through all he said ran one quality that pleased her—the quality of a man who feels that things can be done, that one need not wait for the world to push one before one moved. She held up the lamp. I can’t forget about your sister. He guided her hand to his crotch, which had already grown in size. “I shall be waiting for you there, and in the meantime, if you will help yourself—pray don’t look like that. Confound this slavery of sex! I am a man! I will get this under if I am killed in doing it!” She scowled into the cold blacknesses about her.
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