How utterly dissociated was I,
A priest and celibate, from the sad strange wife
Of Guido.”
And she laughed.
I threw up my hands in despair. “You’re hopeless,” I said. “It’s no good ever expecting you to be serious.”
“I’m serious enough, in all conscience,” said she, “but I conceal it. I let concealment, like a worm in the bud, feed on my damask cheek. And so—I have plain days.”
“I don’t believe you’ve ever had a plain day in your life,” asserted I. “You’re the most beautiful woman in the world.”
“I would beg you to observe that you’re sitting here and talking small-talk, after all,” she laughed, “That isn’t small-talk. It’s the solemn truth. But look here. I’m not going to let you evade the question. What have you been unhappy about?”
“I’m not unhappy any more. So what does it matter?”
“I want to know. Tell me.”