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Beerbohm, Max, Sir, 1872-1956

"Zuleika Dobson, or, an Oxford love story"


"Where did you get THEM?" asked Clarence, pointing to the ear-rings
worn by his sister.
"HE gave me them," said Katie. Clarence curbed the brotherly intention
of telling her she looked "a sight" in them.
She stood staring into vacancy. "He didn't love HER," she murmured.
"That was all over. I'll vow he didn't love HER."
"Who d'you mean by her?" asked Clarence.
"That Miss Dobson that's been here."
"What's her other name?"
"Zuleika," Katie enunciated with bitterest abhorrence.
"Well, then, he jolly well did love her. That's the name he called out
just before he threw himself in. 'Zuleika!'--like that," added the
boy, with a most infelicitous attempt to reproduce the Duke's manner.
Katie had shut her eyes, and clenched her hands.
"He hated her. He told me so," she said.
"I was always a mother to him," sobbed Mrs. Batch, rocking to and fro
on a chair in a corner. "Why didn't he come to me in his trouble?"
"He kissed me," said Katie, as in a trance. "No other man shall ever
do that."
"He did?" exclaimed Clarence. "And you let him?"
"You wretched little whipper-snapper!" flashed Katie.
"Oh, I am, am I?" shouted Clarence, squaring up to his sister.


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