‘You give me an excellent excuse to have in the Madeira,’ said his hostess, reaching for a silver hand bell and setting it pealing. I hate children. It is no good arguing about a thing like that. We are the species, and maternity is our game; that’s all right, but nobody wants that admitted for fear we should all catch fire, and set about fulfilling the purpose of our beings without waiting for further explanations. Die, indeed! We’re going to do work; we’re going to unfold about each other; we’re going to have children. But I want to know what you are doing. ’ A peal of laughter came from the girl. People do call their unlawful children strange names. Leonardo had taught her pretty well everything she could have need to know, when they had talked long at his bedside. Their idea of maidenly innocence was just a blank white—the sort of flat white that doesn’t shine.
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