The sun was setting, casting long dreary shadows across deformed apple trees. For aught I know, they may be in the neighbourhood at this moment. I’m a little tired. Only last night she saw me, and there was horror in her eyes. ’ Gerald sat back in his chair, thinking hard. She liked to do it for Cathy Beck, so that she could relax after waitressing all day at the Big Apple with a homemade meal. She thought that women were not made for the struggle and turmoil of life— their place was the little world, the home; that their power lay not in votes but in influence over men and in making the minds of their children fine and splendid. She was going through with that, anyhow. But if I were dying of thirst, in a desert, I would not accept a cup of water at her hands. Stunning and continuous, the din seemed almost to take away the power of hearing. I am bound to admit that I greatly enjoy my altered life.
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