AGNUS
And—if I don’t—she won’t!
ONFROY
More than that, you Lilliputian brain-storm, I’ll publish your infamy in every medical and scientific journal—in every newspaper and magazine, too, not controlled by this money-mad crew. You!—the biggest man in science—to make a nigger-slave of yourself for jews-harps and frill-fralls! Go part your hair in the middle and comb it over your forehead! You’ve got a forehead under false pretences. Your hair ought to grow into your eyes. Your eyes should close together like a smelt’s. You ought to have a chin running due south. Your head ought to look like a chipmunk’s or like a Bartlett pear.—Bah!
AGNUS
Life’s nothing without her?
ONFROY
You read that in a book. You won’t be sure you know her when the fashions in women’s clothes change. You’re mad with the madness of a man who has never lived with women before.
AGNUS
I thank Heaven—in that way—I’m worthy of her!