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Zuleika Dobson; Or, An Oxford Love Story
·
Sir Max Beerbohm
157
He
ought,
therefore,
to
have
been
in
bed
and
asleep
two
hours
ago.
And
the
offence
of
his
vigil
was
aggravated
by
a
large
tumbler
that
stood
in
front
of
him,
containing
whisky
and
soda.
From
this
he
took
a
deep
draught.
Then
he
read
over
what
he
had
written.
I
did
not
care
to
peer
over
his
shoulder
at
MS.
which,
though
written
in
my
room,
was
not
intended
for
my
eyes.
But
the
writer’s
brain
was
open
to
me;
and
he
had
written
“I,
the
undersigned
Edward
Joseph
Craddock,
do
hereby
leave
and
bequeath
all
my
personal
and
other
property
to
Zuleika
Dobson,
spinster.
This
is
my
last
will
and
testament.”
He
gnawed
his
pen,
and
presently
altered
the
“hereby
leave”
to
“hereby
and
herewith
leave.”
Fool!
I
thereby
and
therewith
left
him.
As
I
emerged
through
the
floor
of
the
room
above--through
the
very
carpet
that
had
so
often
been
steeped
in
wine,
and
encrusted
with
smithereens
of
glass,
in
the
brave
old
days
of
a
well-remembered
occupant--I
found
two
men,
both
of
them
evidently
reading-men.
One
of
them
was
pacing
round
the
room.
“Do
you
know,”
he
was
saying,
“what
she
reminded
me
of,
all
the
time?
Those
words--aren’t
they
in
the
Song
of
Solomon?--‘fair
as
the
moon,
clear
as
the
sun,
and...
and...’”
“‘Terrible
as
an
army
with
banners,’”
supplied
his
host--rather
testily,
for
he
was
writing
a
letter.
It
began
“My
dear
Father.
By
the
time
you
receive
this
I
shall
have
taken
a
step
which...”
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