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Beerbohm, Max, Sir, 1872-1956

"Zuleika Dobson, or, an Oxford love story"


And the Duke, tightly held by her, vibrated as to a powerful electric
current. He let her cling to him, and her magnetism range through him.
Ah, it was good not to have died! Fool, he had meant to drain off-
hand, at one coarse draught, the delicate wine of death. He would let
his lips caress the brim of the august goblet. He would dally with the
aroma that was there.
"So be it!" he cried into Zuleika's ear--cried loudly, for it seemed
as though all the Wagnerian orchestras of Europe, with the Straussian
ones thrown in, were here to clash in unison the full volume of right
music for the glory of the reprieve.
The fact was that the Judas boat had just bumped Univ., exactly
opposite the Judas barge. The oarsmen in either boat sat humped,
panting, some of them rocking and writhing, after their wholesome
exercise. But there was not one of them whose eyes were not upcast at
Zuleika. And the vocalisation and instrumentation of the dancers and
stampers on the towing-path had by this time ceased to mean aught of
joy in the victors or of comfort for the vanquished, and had resolved
itself into a wild wordless hymn to the glory of Miss Dobson. Behind
her and all around her on the roof of the barge, young Judasians were
venting in like manner their hearts through their lungs.


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