And more boys die than girls, so that the real disproportion among adults is even greater. Eventually her movements carried her to the little stand at the side of the bed. A slight rain fell at the time; and a few leaves, caught by the eddies, whirled around. Through all he said ran one quality that pleased her—the quality of a man who feels that things can be done, that one need not wait for the world to push one before one moved. His hands reached under her skirt. Don’t leave me. “Oh, my dear!” she cried, and suddenly flung herself, kneeling, into her husband’s arms. For a while they stood there, silent, motionless, staring at the doorway where still a few strings of the bamboo curtain swayed and twisted, agitated by the Wastrel's passage.
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