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Updated: June 21, 2025
Gloria sat in her favorite chair on the broad veranda. The shadow of the vines made a delicate tracery over her white dress. Gloria was lazily content. She had been comfortable and content for seventeen years. "There's that queer little thing again, going off with her queer little bag!" Gloria's gaze dwelt on the house across the wide street. Down its steps a small, neat figure was tripping.
Unconsciously he stiffened his old gesture before a woman. But now Gloria came running out to him, her two hands offered, her eyes alight with pleasure. "You did come," she said gladly. Gloria's escort, obviously holding himself to be privileged through virtue of his briefly temporary office, thrust himself along in her wake. Him King did not notice; King saw only Gloria.
Gloria's heart sank in despair; she felt as though she were going to faint. But all the time her hands, like Gratton's, had been groping. At the moment when she felt that her knees were giving way under her, she found where an arm of the cave continued, narrow, slanting upward steeply, cluttered with blocks of stone.
The assumption of a mute contempt, such as was vaguely expressed by the Queen, appeared to him to be the best policy; he therefore adopted that attitude, without however producing the least visible effect. Gloria's face, softly flushed with suppressed emotion, looked earnest and impassioned, but neither abashed nor afraid.
Anything was better than this cup of perspiration and tears. The sense of the enormous panorama of life, never strong in Anthony, had become dim almost to extinction. At long intervals now some incident, some gesture of Gloria's, would take his fancy but the gray veils had come down in earnest upon him. As he grew older those things faded after that there was wine.
He felt insanely inclined to pick up her little boots, one after the other, and go down on his knees and kiss them; her hat was a flopsy turban, from under the brim of which the most adorable of golden-brown curls half escaped to throw kiss-shadows on her rosy cheeks. And Gloria's eyes! This time there was no door between them, nor even the memory of a door.
Going with the spoon to Princess Gloria she cried: "Love no more! Magic art Now will freeze your mortal heart!" With this she dashed the contents of the ladle full upon Gloria's breast. Trot saw the body of the Princess become transparent, so that her beating heart showed plainly. But now the heart turned from a vivid red to gray, and then to white.
In Gloria's collapse before her bullying lover there is something at once cold and unclean; it calls up all the modern supermen with their cruel and fishy eyes. Such farces should begin in a friendly air, in a tavern. There is something very symbolic of Shaw in the fact that his farce begins in a dentist's.
PAUL GRIGGS left Francesca with the certainty in his own mind that she had produced no impression whatever upon him, but he was conscious that his opinion of her had undergone a change. He was suddenly convinced that she was the best woman he had ever known, and that Gloria's accusations were altogether unjust and unfounded.
Then, too, Gratton knew from Gloria's own lips that she had brought the message from her father in Coloma; hence Gratton might suspect, and Brodie after him, that Gloria was in possession of old Loony Honeycutt's secret.
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