Strelsa looked at her, absently.
"Nobody seems to be ashamed of anything any more," she said, half to herself. "The only thing that embarrasses us is what the outside world may think of us. We don't seem to care what we think of each other."
Molly, a trifle red, asked her warmly what she meant.
"Oh, I was just realising what are the motives that govern us—the majority of us—and how primitive they are. So many among us seem to be moral throwbacks—types reappearing out of the mists of an ancient and unmoral past.... Echoes of primitive ages when nobody knew any better—when life was new, and was merely life and nothing else—fighting, treacherous, cringing life which knew of nothing else to do except to eat, sleep, and reproduce itself—bully the weaker, fawn on the stronger, lie, steal, and watch out that death should not interfere with the main chance."
Molly, redder than ever, asked her again what she meant.
"I don't know, dear.... How clean the woods and fields seem after a day indoors with many people."
"You mean we all need moral baths?"
"I do."
Molly smiled: "For a moment I thought you meant that I do."
Strelsa smiled, too: