Lucy’s guts ached with jealousy and bitterness, building in a knot that twisted in her stomach, rag-like. They don’t catch on to discursive interests, you see, because they are more serious, they are concentrated on the central reality of life, and a little impatient of its—its outer aspects. At first she thought he was endeavouring to rid himself of the fleas, but after a time she came to understand that the muck had healing qualities and soothed the burning scratches made by his claws. Sated, he rolled off her body and retired to his quarters. Well, it had to happen somewhen. E. ’ For a moment or two there was dead silence in the parlour.
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