Then she seemed to pull herself together.
“I must talk to somebody, I must!” she said, suddenly straightening herself in her chair, her face creamy and creased, her soft brown hair sagging over her ears, her brown eyes oddly desperate. “May I talk to you?”
“Do!” said Kate, rather uneasy.
“You know what Ramón is doing?” she said, looking at Kate almost furtively, suspiciously.
“Does he want to bring back the old gods?” said Kate vaguely.
“Ah!” cried Doña Carlota, again with that desperate, flying jerk of her hand. “As if it were possible! As if it were possible! The old gods! Imagine it, Señora! The old gods! Why what are they? Nothing but dead illusions. And ugly, repulsive illusions! Ah! I always thought my husband such a clever man, so superior to me! Ah, it is terrible to have to change one’s idea! This is such