"Hush, Jim! Am I different?"
"Good God! Yes!"
"No, dear."
"You don't know what you're saying!"
"You don't know. Do you suppose I am immune to—to the—lesser love—at moments——"
He lifted his head and looked up at her, dismayed.
"You!"
"I. How else could I understand you?"
"Because you are so far above everything unworthy."
"No, dear. If I were, you would only have angered and frightened me—not made me sorry for us both. Because women and men are something alike at moments; only, somehow, women seem to realise that—somehow—they are guardians of—of something—of civilisation, perhaps. And it is their instinct to curb and silence and ignore whatever unworthy threatens it or them. It is that way with us, Jim."