“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. Cathy stood in the bedroom hallway in her faded blue bathrobe. You simply can't get good oil down there, so I must husband the few drams I carry. I know nothing of that young lady. Good riddance.
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