“You want to remain my slave, even then?” she said, “that would be interesting, but I am afraid he wouldn’t permit it.”
“He?”
“Yes, he is already jealous of you,” she exclaimed, “he, of you! He demanded that I dismiss you immediately, and when I told him who you were—”
“You told him—” I repeated, thunderstruck.
“I told him everything,” she replied, “our whole story, all your queerness, everything—and he, instead of being amused, grew angry, and stamped his foot.”
“And threatened to strike you?”
Wanda looked to the ground, and remained silent.
“Yes, indeed,” I said with mocking bitterness, “you are afraid of him, Wanda!” I threw myself down at her feet, and in my agitation embraced her knees. “I don’t want anything of you, except to be your slave, to be always near you! I will be your dog-”
“Do you know, you bore me?” said Wanda, indifferently.
I leaped up. Everything within me was seething.