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           Buthewouldprotectherwithhisheartforalittlewhile.Foralittlewhile,beforetheinsentientironworldandtheMammonofmechanizedgreeddidthembothin,heraswellashim.

           Hewenthomewithhisgunandhisdog,tothedarkcottage,litthelamp,startedthefire,andatehissupperofbreadandcheese,youngonionsandbeer.Hewasalone,inasilenceheloved.Hisroomwascleanandtidy,butratherstark.Yetthefirewasbright,thehearthwhite,thepetroleumlamphungbrightoverthetable,withitswhiteoil-cloth.HetriedtoreadabookaboutIndia,buttonighthecouldnotread.Hesatbythefireinhisshirt-sleeves,notsmoking,butwithamugofbeerinreach.AndhethoughtaboutConnie.

           Totellthetruth,hewassorryforwhathadhappened,perhapsmostforhersake.Hehadasenseofforeboding.Nosenseofwrongorsin;hewastroubledbynoconscienceinthatrespect.Heknewthatconsciencewaschieflyfearofsociety,orfearofoneself.Hewasnotafraidofhimself.Buthewasquiteconsciouslyafraidofsociety,whichheknewbyinstincttobeamalevolent,partly-insanebeast.

           Thewoman!Ifshecouldbetherewithhim,andtherewerenobodyelseintheworld!Thedesireroseagain,hispenisbegantostirlikealivebird.Atthesametimeanoppression,adreadofexposinghimselfandhertothatoutsideThingthatsparkledviciouslyintheelectriclights,weigheddownhisshoulders.She,pooryoungthing,wasjustayoungfemalecreaturetohim;butayoungfemalecreaturewhomhehadgoneintoandwhomhedesiredagain.