The thought did not occur to her, for all thought had flown out of her head. When I think of those ateliers of ours, the art jargon, the decadents with their flamboyant talk I long for a twoedged sword and a minute of Divinity. I pity her from the bottom of my heart. Only au revoir. I have given up painting. And my word's law—with you, at least," she added, bestowing a cutting glance upon her husband. Upon this grateful animal she lavished that affection which was subtly repelled by its lawful object. They almost made me feel like they were mine. They thought that she was her own mother. "Something more than whisky did that. They will claim particular attention hereafter.
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