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86 I loathe thy city, thy race, and thee! Of what avail is all the miserable skill and cunning of thy slaves? A swallow or locust can fly more easily, a spider is a better spinner, and the tiniest flower draws more varied beauty from the dull earth. I scorn thy boasted reason. Liar and hypocrite! how canst thou stay in my presence? Throw off thy mask and let me see thy cowardly features livid with fear and shame. Let me see before I die that in this abominable spot one blow in honour of women has struck home. Take off that mask—wilt thou make me mad? Down with the mask, I say, or my reason will not hold till I can find a way to death. Thou shalt not make me mad, and keep me for thy lust and cruelty in this horrid den. Hast thou no dagger—no deadly poison? Let me die! Monster, make thyself human for a moment, and being human, slay me. I will not be maddened and polluted."