You are one of the Immortals. . Too damned chickenhearted to confess to me he’d run off with the woman. ‘No, let me guess,’ he interrupted. Then she would have quiet times, in which she would say to herself, “Now look here! Let me think it all out!” For the first time, it seemed to her, she faced the facts of a woman’s position in the world—the meagre realities of such freedom as it permitted her, the almost unavoidable obligation to some individual man under which she must labor for even a foothold in the world. But De Maupassant—sheer off! Stick to Dickens and Thackeray and Hugo. She was not altogether surprised when she found a deer, gutted of its entrails and strung with a garland of flowers, on the cave’s doorstep one humid summer morning.
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