You can't bear to realise what a stock, stiff, hide-bound brutality you
ARE really, so you say "it's the world of art." The world of art is
only the truth about the real world, that's all--but you are too far
gone to see it.'
She was white and trembling, intent. Gudrun and Loerke sat in stiff
dislike of her. Gerald too, who had come up in the beginning of the
speech, stood looking at her in complete disapproval and opposition. He
felt she was undignified, she put a sort of vulgarity over the
esotericism which gave man his last distinction. He joined his forces
with the other two. They all three wanted her to go away. But she sat
on in silence, her soul weeping, throbbing violently, her fingers
twisting her handkerchief.
The others maintained a dead silence, letting the display of Ursula's
obtrusiveness pass by. Then Gudrun asked, in a voice that was quite
cool and casual, as if resuming a casual conversation:
'Was the girl a model?'
'Nein, sie war kein Modell. Sie war eine kleine Malschulerin.
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