"All right." Then, looking across the sidewalk, he added: "There's that
damned taxi!"
"Yes. We'll drive around there in it."
"No," said he, "send it away. I don't feel like riding."
We walked to the Shoreham. The cafe looked cheerful, as it always does.
We ordered an extensive supper. It was good. There were pretty women in
the room, but we looked at them with the austere eyes of disillusioned
men, and talked cynically of life. I cannot recall any of the things we
said, though I remember thinking at the time that both of us were being
rather brilliant, in an icy way. I suppose it was mainly about women.
That was to be expected. Women, indeed! What were women to us? Nothing!
And pretty women, least of all. Ah, pretty women! Pretty women!... Yes,
yes!
I had ordered fruit to finish off the meal, and I remember that as the
dish was set upon the table, it occurred to me that we had made a very
pleasant party of it after all.
"Do you know," I said, as I helped myself to some hothouse grapes, "I've
had a bully evening. It has been fine to sit here and have a party all
to ourselves. I'm not so sorry that she did not come!"
Then I ate a grape or two.
They were very handsome grapes, but they were sour.
CHAPTER XVIII
THE LEGACY OF HATE
... Immortal hate,
And courage never to submit or yield.
Pages:
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203