No
hope whatever of getting out of the affair. I went to Polly
Singleton's auction because Rosalind Merton raised the demon in me. I
tried to become the possessor of the sealskin jacket because her heart
was set on it. I won an eighty-guinea jacket for ten guineas. You see
how ignoble my motives were, also how unworthy the results. I did
worse even than that-- for I will out with the truth to you, Nancy-- I
revenged myself still further upon that spiteful little gnat,
Rosalind, and raised the price of her coveted coral to such an extent
that I know by her face she is pounds in debt for it. Now, my dear,
what have you to say to me? Nothing good, I know that. Let me read
Aristotle for the next hour just to calm my mind."
Maggie turned away, seated herself by her writing bureau and tried to
lose both the past and the present in her beloved Greek.
"She will do it, too," whispered Nancy as she left the room. "No one
ever was made quite like Maggie. She can feel tortures and yet the
next moment she can be in ecstasy. She is so tantalizing that at times
you are almost brought to believe her own stories about herself. You
are almost sure that she has got the black self as well as the white
self. But through it all, yes, through it all, you love her.
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