Zuleika Dobson, Or An Oxford Love Story (International Collectors Library)

A 1911 novel through Max Beerbohm, a satire of undergraduate existence at Oxford through the Edwardian period. Zuleika is a tender femme fatale who enthralls the full undergraduate institution at Oxford. each younger guy who sees her falls in love and she or he completely enjoys their cognizance. This satire contains the well-known line "Death cancels all engagements" and offers a corrosive view of Oxford at the moment.

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Black and purple, have been they no longer, if you took them? " "Of path. after which I forgot that I had them. whilst I undressed, they have to have rolled directly to the carpet. Melisande chanced on them this morning whilst she used to be making the room prepared for me to decorate. That used to be simply after she got here again from bringing you my first letter. i used to be bewildered. I doubted. would possibly not the pearls have long past again to their usual country easily via being yours not more? for this reason I wrote back to you, my very own darling - a frantic little wondering letter. while I heard the way you had torn it up, I knew, I knew that the pearls had no longer mocked me. I telescoped my bathroom and got here speeding around to you. what percentage hours have I been awaiting you? " The Duke had drawn her ear-rings from his waistcoat pocket, and was once considering them within the palm of his hand. Blanched, either one of them, certain. He laid them at the desk. "Take them," he stated. "No," she shuddered. "I might always remember that after they have been either black. " She flung them into the fender. "Oh John," she cried, turning to him and falling back to her knees, "I achieve this are looking to fail to remember what i've been. i need to atone. you're thinking that you could force me from your existence. you can't, darling - because you will not kill me. continuously I shall keep on with you on my knees, hence. " He appeared down at her over his folded palms, "I am unlikely to again out of my promise," he repeated. She stopped her ears. With a stern pleasure he spread out his hands, took a few papers from his breast-pocket, and, settling on one among them, passed it to her. It was once the telegram despatched via his steward. She learn it. With a stern pleasure he watched her analyzing it. Wild-eyed, she appeared up from it to him, attempted to talk, and swerved down mindless. He had now not foreseen this. "Help! " he vaguely cried - was once she now not a fellow-creature? - and rushed blindly out to his bed room, whence he back, a second later, with the water-jug. He dipped his hand, and sprinkled the upturned face (Dew-drops on a white rose? yet another, sharper analogy hovered to him). He dipped and sprinkled. The water-beads broke, mingled - rivulets now. He dipped and flung, then stuck the terrible analogy and rebounded. It used to be at this second that Zuleika opened her eyes. "Where am I? " She weakly raised herself on one elbow; and the suspension of the Duke's hatred might were repealed concurrently with that of her recognition, had it now not already been repealed through the analogy. She positioned a hand to her face, then checked out the rainy palm wonderingly, checked out the Duke, observed the water-jug beside him. She, too, it appeared, had stuck the analogy; for with a wan smile she acknowledged "We are quits now, John, will not be we? " Her terrible little jest drew to the Duke's face no answering smile, did yet make warmer the blush there. The wave of her returning reminiscence swept on - swept as much as her with a roar the moment previous. "Oh," she cried, brilliant to her toes, "the owls, the owls! " Vengeance used to be his, and "Yes, there," he acknowledged, "is the ineluctable tough truth you wake to. The owls have hooted. The gods have spoken.

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