Manchurian Books

I had waited for her outside the door
of the Parsian-robe establishment in Kensington High Street and walked
home with her thence. I remember how she emerged into the warm evening
light and that she wore a brown straw hat that made her, for once not
only beautiful but pretty.
"I like that hat," I said by way of opening; and she smiled her rare
delightful smile at me.
"I love you," I said in an undertone, as we jostled closer on the
pavement.
She shook her head forbiddingly, but she still smiled. Then--"Be
sensible!"
The High Street pavement is too narrow and crowded for conversation and
we were some way westward before we spoke again.
"Look here," I said; "I want you, Marion. Don't you understand? I want
you."
"Now!" she cried warningly.
I do not know if the reader will understand how a passionate lover,
an immense admiration and desire, can be shot with a gleam of positive
hatred. Such a gleam there was in me at the serene self-complacency of
that "NOW!" It vanished almost before I felt it. I found no warning in
it of the antagonisms latent between us.


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