“You can’t beat a really good woman.” Then he shook his head. “But most women are the devil.”
“Not all.”
“Most.”
He drew up his lip like a dog.
“I remember once in Vienna there was an actress, an agent of the Austrian Government, who was so dangerous that one after another of our fellows had to pull out half-way because they were losing their heads.” He nodded and went on showing his eye-tooth. “But one day there came along an agent less susceptible than the others and—he broke her neck.”
“One of her unlucky days?”
“Yes, he broke her neck.”
There was a pause.
“The clock was over there. This agent looked at it, and it had long gone midnight. She had been home from the theatre some time. The supper things were on the table: supper was over. She was standing in the middle of the room, and when she heard him coming up behind, she leaned back bored for an embrace. She was unused to a refusal. She had in mind to suck this man dry and afterwards toss him away like an empty wine bottle. She put her head back, smiling. He slipped his arm round her neck and—it’s not difficult if you know the way.”
This man had the most wonderful personality in the world. He grew more and more splendid all the time.