Lab
Library
Journal
Shop
Sign in
to keep
Share image
1
290
Zuleika Dobson; Or, An Oxford Love Story
·
Sir Max Beerbohm
207
XVII
He
might
not
have
grudged
her
the
last
word,
had
she
properly
needed
it.
Its
utter
superfluity--the
perfection
of
her
victory
without
it--was
what
galled
him.
Yes,
she
had
outflanked
him,
taken
him
unawares,
and
he
had
fired
not
one
shot.
Esprit
de
l’escalier--it
was
as
he
went
upstairs
that
he
saw
how
he
might
yet
have
snatched
from
her,
if
not
the
victory,
the
palm.
Of
course
he
ought
to
have
laughed
aloud--“Capital,
capital!
You
really
do
deserve
to
fool
me.
But
ah,
yours
is
a
love
that
can’t
be
dissembled.
Never
was
man
by
maiden
loved
more
ardently
than
I
by
you,
my
poor
girl,
at
this
moment.”
And
stay!--what
if
she
really
HAD
been
but
pretending
to
have
killed
her
love?
He
paused
on
the
threshold
of
his
room.
The
sudden
doubt
made
his
lost
chance
the
more
sickening.
Yet
was
the
doubt
dear
to
him
...
What
likelier,
after
all,
than
that
she
had
been
pretending?
She
had
already
twitted
him
with
his
lack
of
intuition.
He
had
not
seen
that
she
loved
him
when
she
certainly
did
love
him.
He
had
needed
the
pearls’
demonstration
of
that.--The
pearls!
THEY
would
betray
her.
He
darted
to
the
fender,
and
one
of
them
he
espied
there
instantly--white?
A
rather
flushed
white,
certainly.
For
the
other
he
had
to
peer
down.
There
it
lay,
not
very
distinct
on
the
hearth’s
black-leading.
He
turned
away.
He
blamed
himself
for
not
dismissing
from
his
mind
the
hussy
he
had
dismissed
from
his
room.
Oh
for
an
ounce
of
civet
and
a
few
poppies!
The
water-jug
stood
as
a
reminder
of
the
hateful
visit
and
of...
He
took
it
hastily
away
into
his
bedroom.
There
he
washed
his
hands.
The
fact
that
he
had
touched
Zuleika
gave
to
this
ablution
a
symbolism
that
made
it
the
more
refreshing.
Marker
Marker
Fine marker
White-out
Fine white-out
Circle
Paint
Unmarker
Hand
Scalpel
Dice
Sieve
Purify
Undo
Redo
Start over
