I understand because
I've felt both those things. But love--two equal people united
perfectly, merged into a third person who is neither yet is
both--that I have not felt. I've dreamed it. I've imagined
it--in some moments of passion. But"--she laughed and
shrugged her shoulders and waved the hand with the cigarette
between its fingers--"I have not felt it and I shall not feel
it. I remain I." She paused, considered, added, "And I
prefer that."
"You are strong," said he, absent and reflective. "Yes, you
are strong."
"I don't know," replied she. "Sometimes I think so.
Again----" She shook her head doubtfully.
"You would be dead if you were not. As strong in soul as in body."
"Probably," admitted she. "Anyhow, I am sure I shall always
be--alone. I shall visit--I shall linger on my threshold and
talk. Perhaps I shall wander in perfumed gardens and dream of
comradeship. But I shall return _chez moi_."
He rose--sighed--laughed--at her and at himself. "Don't delay
too long," said he.
"Delay?"
"Your career."
"My career? Why, I am in the full swing of it. I'm at work
in the only profession I'm fit for."
"The profession of woman?"
"Yes--the profession of female."
He winced--and at this sign, if she did not ask herself what
pleased her, she did not ask herself why. He said sharply, "I
don't like that."
"But _you_ have only to _hear_ it.
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