tem of philosophy must have at least a single flaw—is that you have overlooked the importance of preparing for the reactions of the sex impulse.
It must be stamped out, he cried.
That is exactly what you cannot do. You are finding out that no life is possible which excludes sex. I know. I, too, have suffered. During the weeks you have been away I have felt a good deal—not so much, perhaps, because it didn't frighten me so much—of what you must have been feeling. I, too, for a somewhat different reason, desire to be free, and it needed just this to set me free. I have seen you now, talked with you, kissed you, and I have escaped from my desire, because I have given it up of my own accord. Had you kept away from me I could never—well, certainly not for a long time—have liberated myself, because I would not have been exercising my own free will. Your absence would have been a compelling factor which would have acted unfavourably.
And I? he demanded bitterly. What about me?
Campaspe rose, stooped over Gunnar, and grasped his shoulders. Why, she queried, do you think I brought you here?
Why? he echoed, stupefied. Why?
Here I am. Here youare. There is the bed. I am strong enough now to give you what you want and still walk away free. I am willing to do so. . . . She was speaking with great gentle-
