Театр

           Itwasnogoodnotfacingthetruth,hedidn’tloveher,hewasherloverbecauseitgratifiedhisself-esteem,becauseitbroughthimvariousthingshecaredforandbecauseinhisowneyesatleastitgavehimasortofposition.

           "IfIhadanysenseI’dchuckhim."Shegaveanangrylaugh."It’seasytosaythat.Ilovehim."

           ThestrangethingwasthatwhenshelookedintoherheartitwasnotJuliaLambertthewomanwhoresentedtheaffront,shedidn’tcareforherself,itwastheaffronttoJuliaLamberttheactressthatstungher.Shehadoftenfeltthathertalent,geniusthecriticscalledit,butthatwasaverygrandword,hergift,ifyoulike,wasnotreallyherself,notevenpartofher,butsomethingoutsidethatusedher,JuliaLambertthewoman,inordertoexpressitself.Itwasastrange,immaterialpersonalitythatseemedtodescenduponheranditdidthingsthroughherthatshedidnotknowshewascapableofdoing.Shewasanordinary,prettyish,ageingwoman.Hergifthadneitheragenorform.Itwasaspiritthatplayedonherbodyastheviolinistplaysonhisviolin.Itwastheslighttothatthatgalledher.

           Shetriedtosleep.Shewassoaccustomedtosleepingintheafternoonthatshecouldalwaysdropoffthemomentshecomposedherself,butonthisoccasionsheturnedrestlesslyfromsidetosideandsleepwouldnotcome.Atlastshelookedattheclock.Tomoftengotbackfromhisofficesoonafterfive.Sheyearnedforhim;inhisarmswaspeace,whenshewaswithhimnothingelsemattered.Shedialledhisnumber.

           "Hulloa?Yes