I’ll tap at your door in half an hour.”
Kate sat trying to sew, but her hand trembled. She could not get the bull-ring out of her mind, and something felt damaged in her inside.
She straightened herself, and sighed. She was really very angry, too, with Owen. He was naturally so sensitive, and so kind. But he had the insidious modern disease of tolerance. He must tolerate everything, even a thing that revolted him. He would call it Life! He would feel he had lived this afternoon. Greedy even for the most sordid sensations.
Whereas she felt as if she had eaten something which was giving her ptomaine poisoning. If that was life!
Ah men, men! They all had this soft rottenness of the soul, a strange perversity which made even