René winced. His friend laughed at him:
“Oh, you are not the only one. It begins very early. Women exploit their motherhood as they have exploited their womanhood to get us. It is not their fault. Men have kept their joy from them and preserved their brutishness. There is an even more bitter disgust lying in wait for those who seek to find love only outside women.”
Ann came in on that. She stopped inside the door, and glowered at the painter.
“Oh, so you’ve come back?”
“Yes,” said Kilner, rising. “Like a bad penny.”
“Don’t get up. I ain’t no lady. You been talking?”
“Yes,” said René. “Shall I make some tea? Had a good evening?”
“No. Rotten.” She had not moved from the door. Her eyes came back to Kilner. “You can go on talking. I’m off to my bed.”
And she slipped from the door into the bedroom. René met his friend’s eyes. They were grimly ironical.