the people?—I think you are.”
“Think it then. I think of you, Carlota, merely that you have not been able to come to your complete, final womanhood: which is a different thing from the old womanhoods.”
“Womanhood is always the same.”
“Ah, no it isn’t! Neither is manhood.”
“But what do you think you can do? What do you think this Quetzalcoatl nonsense amounts to?”
“Quetzalcoatl is just a living word, for these people, no more. All I want them to do is to find the beginnings of the way to their own manhood, their own womanhood. Men are not yet men in full, and women are not yet women. They are all half and half, incoherent, part horrible, part pathetic, part good creatures. Half arrived.—I mean you as well, Carlota. I mean all the world.—But these people don’t assert any righteousness