“Don’t you think people are all alike, really?” she said impatiently.
“Our common humanity,” he said bitingly.
She had lost a thread. They were divided. She felt stiffly about for a conventional phrase.
“I expect that most men are the average manly man with the average manly faults.” She had read that somewhere. It was sly and wrong, written by somebody who wanted to flatter.
“It is wonderful, wonderful that you should say that to me.” He stared at the grass with angry eyes. His mouth smiled. His teeth were large and even. They seemed to smile by themselves. The dark, flexible lips curled about them in an unwilling grimace.
“He’s in some horrible pit,” thought Miriam, shrinking from the sight of the desolate garden.
“What are you going to do in life?” she said suddenly.
During the long silent interval she had felt a growing longing to hurt him in some way.
“If I had my will—if—I had my will—I should escape from the world.”
“What would you do?”