And at the same
moment, a grimace came over her mouth, of mocking irony at her own
unspoken tirade. Ah, what a farce it was! She thought of Parnell and
Katherine O'Shea. Parnell! After all, who can take the nationalisation
of Ireland seriously? Who can take political Ireland really seriously,
whatever it does? And who can take political England seriously? Who
can? Who can care a straw, really, how the old patched-up Constitution
is tinkered at any more? Who cares a button for our national ideas, any
more than for our national bowler hat? Aha, it is all old hat, it is
all old bowler hat!
That's all it is, Gerald, my young hero. At any rate we'll spare
ourselves the nausea of stirring the old broth any more. You be
beautiful, my Gerald, and reckless. There ARE perfect moments. Wake up,
Gerald, wake up, convince me of the perfect moments. Oh, convince me, I
need it.
He opened his eyes, and looked at her. She greeted him with a mocking,
enigmatic smile in which was a poignant gaiety. Over his face went the
reflection of the smile, he smiled, too, purely unconsciously.
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