She was lamentably without comparisons; such few young men as she had seen—white men—had been on the beach, pitiful and terrible objects. That’s probably true. Every now and then she fingered an ornament, moved a piece of furniture, or rearranged some draperies. “Why would she do that? Why does she care? That’s a waste of her time. She drank and drank until his body was a lifeless husk, as light as a mannequin, virtually hollow of all but the fluid in his bones. But think of the disillusionment! Except for our sex we have minds like men, desires like men. You, Anna, are one of them. We pretend we never think of everything that makes us what we are. “A man who does not touch his wife, who ignores his wife, what kind of man is he? I am not sick any more. "How do I know you are a friend?" asked Darrell.
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