It was a fetching gown that stretched tightly in a cream colored swath over her breasts and expanded to a full skirt with a petticoat. She might scream until her voice failed; the natives would not come to her aid; they never meddled with the affairs of the whites. The action steadied him; and there was a phase of irony, too, that helped. She saw how overworked he was. His mind was filled briefly with psychic images of a charnel house that danced like a spider in his head. In nearly every speech she heard was the same implication of great and necessary changes in the world—changes to be won by effort and sacrifice indeed, but surely to be won. You do not make me afraid like this. The beautiful city that she had been awed by and even grown to love had been abandoned. I do not wish to return to Paris.
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