White became conscious of a distinct sense of uneasiness, and showed it in her face. The fact that it was her trusted friend making illicit love to her remained, in spite of all her effort, an insignificant thing in her mind. She was to be a Corsair’s Bride. There were perches inside where she could crouch and labyrinths underneath where she could hide. “David,” she said, “you are not a coward, are you?” “I do not know,” he muttered. And, as he was about to put himself into a posture of defence, his mother clasped him in her arms. She twisted to meet him and folded into his embrace. She so wanted to keep her memory of him fresh, so wanted to memorize his kisses and to conjure his embrace someday when he was mere dust in the ground. There he sat, cheerfully friendly in his sex’s freedom—the man she loved, the one man she cared should unlock the way to the wide world for her imprisoned feminine possibilities, and he seemed regardless that she stifled under his eyes; he made a jest of all this passionate insurgence of the souls of women against the fate of their conditions. Jonathan, however, paid no sort of attention to this demonstration of hatred.
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