We are not animals. Yes, I can readily believe it. He’s dead. She returned home to the Beck house soaked and soggy. Joe, my foster dad, was a heroin and booze addict. “Why should women be dependent on men?” she asked; and the question was at once converted into a system of variations upon the theme of “Why are things as they are?”—“Why are human beings viviparous?”—“Why are people hungry thrice a day?”—“Why does one faint at danger?” She stood for a time looking at the dry limbs and still human face of that desiccated unwrapped mummy from the very beginnings of social life. ” Mike said, with unsubtle jealousy. For a time he would be the grim Protestant Flagellant, pursuing the idea of self-castigation. ’ She eyed him, all her uncertainty surfacing.
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