And it's the
body that makes the most dreadful tears. Most people don't see this. You
see, the body's hungers are the most appeasable--and being the most
appeasable one can't see why they shouldn't be yielded to."
He stopped talking as they drove into the main street of Pitleathy, and
while he was with his patient at a little house in the middle of the
street Marcella sat thinking. Loose ends of his talk floated about in
her grasping mind and she collected them to make him fasten them down
when he came back.
"Do you know, doctor, you've muddled me," she said as they turned
homewards in the teeth of the wind.
"I'm sorry for that, Marcella. You'd better forget what I've said.
Sitting alone so much I talk to myself, and I forgot I was talking
to a bit lassie like you. Forget things you don't understand."
"And then get more puzzled later on, when they crop up?" she said. "No.
I want you to tell me, now. I want to know, now, why mother was ill--and
why Jean and I have headaches."
"Your mother was ill through an accident," he said gravely. "I don't
wish to talk about that. And as for Jean and you--well, it's what we
expect of women. Man has made his women-folk invalids."
"Doctor!" she gasped.
"Women are always getting ill more or less. Their natural place in the
scheme of things makes them weaker.
Pages:
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81