Tell other
women."
"It's you women that make war," he continued. "Oh, I don't mean that you
do it on purpose, but it's in your blood. It comes from the days when to
live it was needful to kill. When a man who was swift and strong to kill
was the only thing that could save a woman and her brood. Every other
man that crept towards them through the grass was an enemy, and her only
hope was that her man might kill him, while she watched and waited. And
later came the tribe; and instead of the one man creeping through the
grass, the everlasting warfare was against all other tribes. So you
loved only the men ever ready and willing to fight, lest you and your
children should be carried into slavery: then it was the only way. You
brought up your boys to be fighters. You told them stories of their
gallant sires. You sang to them the songs of battle: the glory of
killing and of conquering. You have never unlearnt the lesson. Man has
learnt comradeship--would have travelled further but for you. But woman
is still primitive. She would still have her man the hater and the
killer.
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