The blast once more swept over the agitated river: whirled off the sheets of foam, scattered them far and wide in rain-drops, and left the raging torrent blacker than before. We can’t afford to turn our women, our Madonnas, our Saint Catherines, our Mona Lisas, our goddesses and angels and fairy princesses, into a sort of man. She began by being interested in his demonstrations and his biological theory, then she was attracted by his character, and then, in a manner, she fell in love with his mind. Not only that, but he carried himself erect— the slight slouch which had bent his shoulders had altogether disappeared. He was a tall man and fair, with bluish eyes that were rather protuberant, and long white hands of which he made a display. Poor Ruth: for a father, a madman; for a husband—a thief! Spurlock rocked his body slightly. Even our coarseness. “Anna!” she repeated. We had not then recovered from the shock.
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