Her cheeks flushed a dull red. What a pity! For all her ignorance of material things—the human inventions which served the physical comforts of man—how much she knew about man himself! She had seen him bereft of all those spiritual props which permit man to walk on two feet instead of four—broken, without resilience. He rambled in an unfortunate monotone, the result of his innate fear of public speaking. In fact, Kimble was drowsily awake when she entered the little bedchamber, the state of which left a good deal to be desired, even without the added debris arising from tending a wounded man. Shakily, she rose with the sword and drove it through Rhea’s heart. But probably not the truth. “It is very doubtful,” he said. The law would accord her all her previous rights: she would return to the exact status out of which in his madness he had taken her.
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