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Zuleika Dobson; Or, An Oxford Love Story
·
Sir Max Beerbohm
67
“Even
so,
you
would
but
have
been
mobbed
for
your
incorrigible
beauty.”
“My
beauty!
How
I
hate
it!”
sighed
Zuleika.
“Still,
here
it
is,
and
I
must
needs
make
the
best
of
it.
Come!
Take
me
to
Judas.
I
will
change
my
things.
Then
I
shall
be
fit
for
the
races.”
As
these
two
emerged,
side
by
side,
into
the
street,
the
Emperors
exchanged
stony
sidelong
glances.
For
they
saw
the
more
than
normal
pallor
of
the
Duke’s
face,
and
something
very
like
desperation
in
his
eyes.
They
saw
the
tragedy
progressing
to
its
foreseen
close.
Unable
to
stay
its
course,
they
were
grimly
fascinated
now.
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