»It had to be a fine man, my dear, a really fine man. Those other drivellers—its no good striking them—you only dirty your hands. But now that I have struck you—why, I can kiss my own hand! Little hand, you have hit a fine man!« She smiled, and did in fact three times stroke and kiss her right hand.
He looked at her wildly, and his usually deliberate thoughts coursed with the speed of desperation. There was approaching, like a black cloud, a Thing, terrible and irreparable as death.
»What—what did you say?«
»I said it's shameful to be fine. Didn't you know that?«
»I never—« he muttered, and sat down, deeply confused and no longer fully conscious of her.
»Then learn it now.«
She spoke calmly, and only the swelling of her half-bared bosom betrayed how profound the emotion was that lay suppressed behind that myriad cry.
»Do you realise it now?«
»What?« He was recovering himself.
»Do you realise it, I say?«