that I have been losing my blood about.—Do you think it’s rather awful?”
“I do! But then I think we all feel like that, at moments. Or we would if we dared. It’s only one of our moments.”
“Sometimes,” said she, “I think that is my permanent feeling towards people. I like the world, the sky and the earth and the greater mystery beyond. But people—yes, they are all monkeys to me.”
He could see that, at the bottom of her soul, it was true.
“Puras monas!” he said to himself in Spanish. “Y lo que hacen, puras monerias.”
“Pure monkeys! And the things they do, sheer monkeydom!” Then he added: “Yet you have children!”
“Yes! Yes!” she said, struggling with herself. “My first husband’s children.”
“And they?—monas y no mas?”
“No!” she said, frowning and looking angry with herself. “Only partly.”
“It