"What! Why?"
"Because it takes up your time, wastes your strength, ruins your figure—it has ruined your complexion—and it—it makes you a public nuisance."
"I can't help it."
She got up and stood by the window with her back to Tyson. She still held the child to her breast, but she was not looking at him; she was looking away through the window, rocking her body slightly backwards and forwards, either to soothe the child or to vent her own impatience.
Tyson's angry voice followed her. "Of course you can help it. Other women can. You must wean the animal."
She turned. "Oh, Nevill, look at him—"
"I don't want to look at him."
"But—he's so ti-i-ny. Whatever will he do?"
"Do? He'll do as other women's children do."
"He won't. He'll die."