Brown as a gipsy, her hair filled with tiny green leaves, Claire looked at him, her eyes shining with the warm light of satisfied hunger. "We ate like two beasts," she remarked languidly, and laughed. "It was simply disgraceful."
"I know," he began to muse, "it doesn't take long for the most polished man—not that I ever was that—to become a savage."
"You look the part," she laughed. "I suppose I do, too. My hair is matted hopelessly; the curliness makes it worse. My face, too, is rapidly hardening under this sun. If only I had a few more clothes—" She stopped and looked at him. "I feel the need of them," she finished lamely.
Claire had worn his coat continuously from the first night, and his undershirt was tearing from contact with bush and tree. He grinned contentedly, however.
"If you approach nakedness as rapidly as I," he chuckled, "I fear we both will have to avoid civilization. Undisguised humanity isn't tolerated there."
She flushed warmly, then laughed.
"I wonder why people are so afraid of being seen," Lawrence went on. "Of course, there's the warmth and natural protection of clothing, but one would feel so much freer without the encumbrance of shirt-stud and feathered plume."
"We need them to complete a personality," said Claire. "I know few people who would inspire respect in their elemental state. Stripped of advertising silk and diamond, they wouldn't be so suggestive of wealth."
"But why be so eager to impress others with your power?"
She turned toward him with a faint smile. "If you didn't ask that as mere conversation, I would think you childish. You know very well why. It probably goes back to the days when the possession of a fish-hook, more or less, meant surer life. It has come to mean, now, that the decoration of an extra feather or white flannel trousers means advantageous position, the place of more power, more pleasure; in short, greater fulness of living."