“It is a hateful story. “You call yourself an artist— but you have no temperament. He envied her a little. The assemblage which was gathered together was almost countless. Why should she trouble herself over that young fool, who was nothing to her; who, when he eventually sobered up, would not be able to recognize her, or if he did, as something phantasmagorical? Perhaps he should not apply the term "fool"; "unfortunate" might be the more accurate application. No! not even the derivation! But the fashion’s been set and in it you must be. But it never said: "Tell someone! Tell someone!" Was he something of a moral pervert, then? Was it what he had lost—the familiar world—rather than what he had done? He stared dully at the footrail. It was easy enough to lie to anyone else. ” 240 “Then I’ll wait for you. And in the vestry was the sword of monsieur le major.
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