Lucy Albert?” “Yes, sir?” She replied, opening the door as Cathy rose from the couch and Larry stirred from his bed. And she would have rushed to him, if she had not been forcibly withheld by her son. “Why not?” He repeated, demanding. One day she had thrown all the gifts into the lagoon, and visited the secret nook no more. “Look at our affair,” he went on, looking up at her. Playing with one hand he turned on his stool to glance at her. Lucy felt her eyes misting up, turning traitor. But, like all your overbearing sex, you must have your own way. On this side was a razor with which a son had murdered his father; the blade notched, the haft crusted with blood: on that, a bar of iron, bent, and partly broken, with which a husband had beaten out his wife's brains. The Chinamen raised the limp body and carried it to the hall staircase, up which they mounted laboriously. She felt a little ashamed of herself, a bit of a hypocrite. As a net result she had come to think of all married people much as one thinks of insects that have lost their wings, and of her sisters as new hatched creatures who had scarcely for a moment had wings.
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