Main  Contacts  
Table of contents
AMORY, SON OF BEATRICE
SPIRES AND GARGOYLES
THE EGOTIST CONSIDERS
NARCISSUS OFF DUTY
THE DEBUTANTE
EXPERIMENTS IN CONVALESCENCE
YOUNG IRONY
THE SUPERCILIOUS SACRIFICE
THE EGOTIST BECOMES A PERSONAGE

one. 

 

AMORY: (Grudgingly) Yes--he's that. 

 

ROSALIND: Well--here's one little thing. There was a little poor boy we 

met in Rye Tuesday afternoon--and, oh, Dawson took him on his lap 

and talked to him and promised him an Indian suit--and next day he 

remembered and bought it--and, oh, it was so sweet and I couldn't help 

thinking he'd be so nice to--to our children--take care of them--and I 

wouldn't have to worry. 

 

AMORY: (In despair) Rosalind! Rosalind! 

 

ROSALIND: (With a faint roguishness) Don't look so consciously 

suffering. 

 

AMORY: What power we have of hurting each other! 

 

ROSALIND: (Commencing to sob again) It's been so perfect--you and I. So 

like a dream that I'd longed for and never thought I'd find. The first 

real unselfishness I've ever felt in my life. And I can't see it fade 

out in a colorless atmosphere! 

 

AMORY: It won't--it won't! 

 

ROSALIND: I'd rather keep it as a beautiful memory--tucked away in my 

heart. 

 

AMORY: Yes, women can do that--but not men. I'd remember always, not 

the beauty of it while it lasted, but just the bitterness, the long 

bitterness. 

 

ROSALIND: Don't! 

 

AMORY: All the years never to see you, never to kiss you, just a gate 

shut and barred--you don't dare be my wife. 

 

ROSALIND: No--no--I'm taking the hardest course, the strongest course. 

Marrying you would be a failure and I never fail--if you don't stop 

walking up and down I'll scream! 

 

(Again he sinks despairingly onto the lounge.) 

 

AMORY: Come over here and kiss me. 

 

ROSALIND: No. 

 

AMORY: Don't you _want_ to kiss me? 

 

ROSALIND: To-night I want you to love me calmly and coolly. 

 

AMORY: The beginning of the end. 

 

ROSALIND: (With a burst of insight) Amory, you're young. I'm young. 

People excuse us now for our poses and vanities, for treating people 

like Sancho and yet getting away with it. They excuse us now. But you've 

got a lot of knocks coming to you-- 

 

AMORY: And you're afraid to take them with me. 

 

ROSALIND: No, not that. There was a poem I read somewhere--you'll say 

Ella Wheeler Wilcox and laugh--but listen: 


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