16.
Touchiness! You call me touchyr You? Who used to be
Gil:
seized with a violent fit of interbling everytime some
insign ilicant boeby chanced on som trumpery sheet
to utter an unfavorable word of criticism.
I don’t remember one word of unfavorable criticism.
Marg:
against me.
H'mj I daresay you may be right. Critios are always
Gil:
chivalrous towards beautiful women?
Chivalous? Do you think my poems were praised out of
Marg:
chivalry? What about your own estimate –
Gil: Mine? I'm not going to retract as much as one little
word. I simply want to remind you that you composed
your sheaf of lovely Laems while we were living together.
And you actually consider yourself worthy of them?
Marg:
would you have written them if it were’nt for me? They
Gil:
are addressed to me.
Marg: Never!
Gil: What! Do you mean to deny that they are addressed to me.
This is monstrous;
We; they are not addressed to you,
Marg:
I am dumbfounded. Shall I remaind you of the situations in
G11;
which some of your loveliest versus had birth?
They were insoribed to an Ideal – (Gilbert points to
Marg:
himself)
Whose representative on each you happened to be.
Marg:
Gil: Hej This is previous. Where did you get that? Be you
know what the French would say in a case like that. "O'est de
la litterature?"
Marg: (minacking him) Ce n'est pas de la litterature. Now
that's the truth, tho honest truth! Or de you really
faney that by the "slim boy" I meant you? Or that the curks
I hymned belonged to you? At that time you were fat and
your hair was never surly. (runs her fingers through his
hair). Gilbert dises the opportunity to capture her hand,
What an idea;