When Grundy tells her things are shocking, she's shocked--pink and
breathless. She goes about trying to conceal her profound sense of guilt
behind a haughty expression....

"Grundy, meanwhile, is in a state of complete whirlabout. Long lean
knuckly hands pointing and gesticulating! 'They're still thinking of
things--thinking of things! It's dreadful. They get it out of books.
I can't imagine where they get it! I must watch! There're people over
there whispering! Nobody ought to whisper!--There's something suggestive
in the mere act! Then, pictures! In the museum--things too dreadful for
words. Why can't we have pure art--with the anatomy all wrong and pure
and nice--and pure fiction pure poetry, instead of all this stuff with
allusions--allusions?... Excuse me! There's something up behind that
locked door! The keyhole! In the interests of public morality--yes, Sir,
as a pure good man--I insist--I'LL look--it won't hurt me--I insist on
looking my duty--M'm'm--the keyhole!'"

He kicked his legs about extravagantly, and I laughed again.

"That's Grundy in one mood, Ponderevo. It isn't Mrs. Grundy. That's one
of the lies we tell about women. They're too simple. Simple! Woman ARE
simple! They take on just what men tell 'em."

Ewart meditated for a space. "Just exactly as it's put to them," he
said, and resumed the moods of Mr. Grundy.

"Then you get old Grundy in another mood. Ever caught him nosing,
Ponderevo? Mad with the idea of mysterious, unknown, wicked, delicious
things. Things that aren't respectable. Wow! Things he mustn't do!...
Any one who knows about these things, knows there's just as much mystery