His face clouded with anger. ’ ‘And now we know also who is the prétendant, Mademoiselle Charvill. There were probably others buried around the 13 house, she had seen a suspicious working refrigerator in the back of the garage mess, but she wasn’t about to check it out. “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. A sinister thought edged in. . . She felt his whole mind sounding in ecstasy. These were his mistresses, Poll Maggot and Edgeworth Bess. “Oh my God, what if she’s dead?” More giggling. Wood. But she felt his lax figure become rigid. By the time I had recovered myself she had gone.
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