There was
a Roumanian, a fine chap. He got completely drunk, and climbed to the
top of a high studio ladder, and gave the most marvellous
address--really, Ursula, it was wonderful! He began in French--La vie,
c'est une affaire d'ames imperiales--in a most beautiful voice--he was
a fine-looking chap--but he had got into Roumanian before he had
finished, and not a soul understood. But Donald Gilchrist was worked to
a frenzy. He dashed his glass to the ground, and declared, by God, he
was glad he had been born, by God, it was a miracle to be alive. And do
you know, Ursula, so it was--' Gudrun laughed rather hollowly.
'But how was Gerald among them all?' asked Ursula.
'Gerald! Oh, my word, he came out like a dandelion in the sun! HE'S a
whole saturnalia in himself, once he is roused. I shouldn't like to say
whose waist his arm did not go round. Really, Ursula, he seems to reap
the women like a harvest. There wasn't one that would have resisted
him. It was too amazing! Can you understand it?'
Ursula reflected, and a dancing light came into her eyes.
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