“I’m inclined to think, Stanley, myself that as a matter of fact it was the expurgated Romeo and Juliet did the mischief. Mrs. ” He chuckled, wincing at the thought. But he was destined to have every tide of feeling awakened—every wound opened. None at all. I’ve been thinking, you know—I’m not sure that primarily the perception of beauty isn’t just intensity of feeling free from pain; intensity of perception without any tissue destruction. I’ve a dread of love dropping its petals, becoming mean and ugly. Stanley, to which the two ladies subordinated themselves intelligently. She felt a cheat and a sneak to his unsuspecting retreating back.
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