Улисс

           Ithurt—Oyes,itcutdeepbecauseEdyhadherownquietwayofsayingthingslikethatsheknewwouldwoundliketheconfoundedlittlecatshewas.Gerty’slipspartedswiftlytoframethewordbutshefoughtbackthesobthatrosetoherthroat,soslim,soflawless,sobeautifullymouldeditseemedoneanartistmighthavedreamedof.Shehadlovedhimbetterthanheknew.Lighthearteddeceiverandficklelikeallhissexhewouldneverunderstandwhathehadmeanttoherandforaninstanttherewasintheblueeyesaquickstingingoftears.Theireyeswereprobinghermercilesslybutwithabraveeffortshesparkledbackinsympathyassheglancedathernewconquestforthemtosee.

           —O,respondedGerty,quickaslightning,laughing,andtheproudheadflashedup.IcanthrowmycapatwhoIlikebecauseit’sleapyear.

           Herwordsrangoutcrystalclear,moremusicalthanthecooingoftheringdove,buttheycutthesilenceicily.Therewasthatinheryoungvoicethattoldthatshewasnotaonetobelightlytrifledwith.AsforMrReggywithhisswankandhisbitofmoneyshecouldjustchuckhimasideasifhewassomuchfilthandneveragainwouldshecastasmuchasasecondthoughtonhimandtearhissillypostcardintoadozenpieces.Andifeverafterhedaredtopresumeshecouldgivehimonelookofmeasuredscornthatwouldmakehimshriveluponthespot.