He looked at her:
"Yes," he said, "I know. That is my sin, my wickedness. The eternal problem of poverty doesn't affect me."
She looked at him contemptuously:
"You don't belong to your period," she said, coldly.
"No."
"Have you ever felt hungry?"
He laughed and shrugged his shoulders.
"Have you ever pictured yourself leading the life of a labourer, of a factory-girl who works until she's worn out and old and half-dead for a bare crust of bread?"
"Oh, those things are so horrible and so ugly: don't talk about them!" he entreated.
The expression of her eyes was cold; the corners of her lips were depressed as though by a sense of disgust; and she rose from her seat.