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They
were
riding
up
close
by
the
cliff
and
Amory
gazed
over
.
Where
the
fall
met
the
ground
a
hundred
feet
below
,
a
black
stream
made
a
sharp
line
,
broken
by
tiny
glints
in
the
swift
water
.
"
Rotten
,
rotten
old
world
,
"
broke
out
Eleanor
suddenly
,
"
and
the
wretchedest
thing
of
all
is
me
--
oh
,
why
am
I
a
girl
?
Why
am
I
not
a
stupid
--
?
Look
at
you
;
you
're
stupider
than
I
am
,
not
much
,
but
some
,
and
you
can
lope
about
and
get
bored
and
then
lope
somewhere
else
,
and
you
can
play
around
with
girls
without
being
involved
in
meshes
of
sentiment
,
and
you
can
do
anything
and
be
justified
--
and
here
am
I
with
the
brains
to
do
everything
,
yet
tied
to
the
sinking
ship
of
future
matrimony
.
If
I
were
born
a
hundred
years
from
now
,
well
and
good
,
but
now
what
's
in
store
for
me
--
I
have
to
marry
,
that
goes
without
saying
.
Who
?
I
'm
too
bright
for
most
men
,
and
yet
I
have
to
descend
to
their
level
and
let
them
patronize
my
intellect
in
order
to
get
their
attention
.
Every
year
that
I
do
n't
marry
I
've
got
less
chance
for
a
first-class
man
.
At
the
best
I
can
have
my
choice
from
one
or
two
cities
and
,
of
course
,
I
have
to
marry
into
a
dinner-coat
.
"
Listen
,
"
she
leaned
close
again
,
"
I
like
clever
men
and
good-looking
men
,
and
,
of
course
,
no
one
cares
more
for
personality
than
I
do
.
Oh
,
just
one
person
in
fifty
has
any
glimmer
of
what
sex
is
.
I
'm
hipped
on
Freud
and
all
that
,
but
it
's
rotten
that
every
bit
of
real
love
in
the
world
is
ninety-nine
per
cent
passion
and
one
little
soupcon
of
jealousy
.
"
She
finished
as
suddenly
as
she
began
.
"
Of
course
,
you
're
right
,
"
Amory
agreed
.
"
It
's
a
rather
unpleasant
overpowering
force
that
's
part
of
the
machinery
under
everything
.
It
's
like
an
actor
that
lets
you
see
his
mechanics
!
Wait
a
minute
till
I
think
this
out
...
"
He
paused
and
tried
to
get
a
metaphor
.
They
had
turned
the
cliff
and
were
riding
along
the
road
about
fifty
feet
to
the
left
.
"
You
see
every
one
's
got
to
have
some
cloak
to
throw
around
it
.
The
mediocre
intellects
,
Plato
's
second
class
,
use
the
remnants
of
romantic
chivalry
diluted
with
Victorian
sentiment
--
and
we
who
consider
ourselves
the
intellectuals
cover
it
up
by
pretending
that
it
's
another
side
of
us
,
has
nothing
to
do
with
our
shining
brains
;
we
pretend
that
the
fact
that
we
realize
it
is
really
absolving
us
from
being
a
prey
to
it
.
But
the
truth
is
that
sex
is
right
in
the
middle
of
our
purest
abstractions
,
so
close
that
it
obscures
vision
...
I
can
kiss
you
now
and
will
.
...
"
He
leaned
toward
her
in
his
saddle
,
but
she
drew
away
.
"
I
ca
n't
--
I
ca
n't
kiss
you
now
--
I
'm
more
sensitive
.
"
"
You
're
more
stupid
then
,
"
he
declared
rather
impatiently
.
"
Intellect
is
no
protection
from
sex
any
more
than
convention
is
...
"
