"Yes. I bit my hands. I was in a rage."
"We men," said Anthony, "when we are angry, hurt each other, but you women, I suppose, hurt your own selves?"
"Yes. We have not the strength or the means to hurt others. Not that we lack the will—so we hurt ourselves. I would rather have bitten some one else, but I could not, so I tore my own hands—with my teeth."
"You are strange beings, you women," said Anthony.
Then he threw the bridle on the ground, and set his foot on it, so as to disengage his own hands.
He took hold of Urith's wrist, and the kerchiefs, one after the other, and arranged the bandages, and fastened them firmly. Whilst thus engaged, he suddenly looked up, and caught her sombre eyes fixed intently on him.
"Would you hurt me—bite and mangle me?" he asked, with a laugh.
"Yes—if you gave me occasion."
"And if I gave you opportunity?"