DOI article:
D'Arcy, Ella: The pleasure-pilgrim
DOI Page / Citation link:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.21806#0069
By Ella D’Arcy 65
He pulled it roughly away, got up, walked to the table, came
back again, stood looking at her with sombre eyes and dilating
pupils.
cc I do love you,” she repeated, rising and advancing towards
him.
“For God’s sake, drop that damned rot,” he cried with sudden
fury. “ It wearies me, do you hear ? it sickens me. Love, love,
my God, what do you know about it ? Why, if you really loved
me, really loved any man—if you had any conception of what the
passion of love is, how beautiful, how fine, how sacred—the mere
idea that you could not come to your lover fresh, pure, untouched,
as a young girl should—that you had been handled, fondled, and
God knows what besides, by this man and the other—would fill
you with such horror for yourself, with such supreme disgust—you
would feel yourself so unworthy, so polluted . . . that . . .
that . . . by God ! you would take up that pistol there, and
blow your brains out ! ”
Lulie seemed to find the idea quite entertaining. She picked
the pistol up from where it lay in the window, examined it with
her pretty head drooping on one side, looked at it critically, and
then sent one of her long, red-brown caressing glances up towards
him.
“ And suppose I were to,” she asked lightly, “ would you
believe me then ? ”
“ Oh, . . . well . . . then, perhaps ; if you showed suffi-
cient decency to kill yourself, perhaps I might,” said he, with
ironical laughter. His ebullition had relieved him ; his nerves
were calmed again. “But nothing short of that would ever
make me.”
With her little tragic air which seemed so like a smile dis—
guised, she raised the weapon to the bosom of her gown. There
came
He pulled it roughly away, got up, walked to the table, came
back again, stood looking at her with sombre eyes and dilating
pupils.
cc I do love you,” she repeated, rising and advancing towards
him.
“For God’s sake, drop that damned rot,” he cried with sudden
fury. “ It wearies me, do you hear ? it sickens me. Love, love,
my God, what do you know about it ? Why, if you really loved
me, really loved any man—if you had any conception of what the
passion of love is, how beautiful, how fine, how sacred—the mere
idea that you could not come to your lover fresh, pure, untouched,
as a young girl should—that you had been handled, fondled, and
God knows what besides, by this man and the other—would fill
you with such horror for yourself, with such supreme disgust—you
would feel yourself so unworthy, so polluted . . . that . . .
that . . . by God ! you would take up that pistol there, and
blow your brains out ! ”
Lulie seemed to find the idea quite entertaining. She picked
the pistol up from where it lay in the window, examined it with
her pretty head drooping on one side, looked at it critically, and
then sent one of her long, red-brown caressing glances up towards
him.
“ And suppose I were to,” she asked lightly, “ would you
believe me then ? ”
“ Oh, . . . well . . . then, perhaps ; if you showed suffi-
cient decency to kill yourself, perhaps I might,” said he, with
ironical laughter. His ebullition had relieved him ; his nerves
were calmed again. “But nothing short of that would ever
make me.”
With her little tragic air which seemed so like a smile dis—
guised, she raised the weapon to the bosom of her gown. There
came