The hope that had been suddenly kindled in the youth's bosom was as suddenly extinguished. Only au revoir. That's my maxim; and it's the maxim of every honest man. Life! Life and love! It makes me want to be always young, always strong, always devoting my life—and dying splendidly. Her face reminded him of a delicate unglazed porcelain cup, filled with blond wine. Confound this slavery of sex! I am a man! I will get this under if I am killed in doing it!” She scowled into the cold blacknesses about her. You remember that you saw us at the Savoy a few evenings ago?” “Yes. “You must come and see me some afternoon,” she said to him. It’s got to be at last like tobacco-ash over all my sayings and doings. There he sat, cheerfully friendly in his sex’s freedom—the man she loved, the one man she cared should unlock the way to the wide world for her imprisoned feminine possibilities, and he seemed regardless that she stifled under his eyes; he made a jest of all this passionate insurgence of the souls of women against the fate of their conditions.
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