“Now you’re to imagine me ugly and just the same as I am now.”
“You wouldn’t be the same.”
“Yes, I should. I should be the same woman, with the same heart and feelings and desires and things as I have now. Only the face would be altered.”
“Well, go ahead, but don’t pinch so, old girl.”
“I pinch you to make you exert your mind. Now tell me truly—truly; would you love me as you do now, would you be jealous of me, would you—”
“I say, wait a bit! Don’t drive on at such a rate. How ugly are you?”
“Very ugly; worse than Miss Filberte.”
“Miss Filberte’s not so bad.”
“Yes, she is, Fritz, you know she is. But I mean ever so much worse; with a purple complexion, perhaps, like Mrs. Armington, whose husband insisted on a judicial separation; or a broken nose, or something wrong with my mouth—”
“What wrong?”