He mused awhile, and then he said,
"Good night, Jabaster!" I believed myself the nearest to his heart, as
he has ever been nearest to mine, but that's all over. He never says,
"Good night, Jabaster," now. Why, what's all this? Methinks I am a
child.
'The Lord's anointed is a prisoner now in the light grating of a bright
kiosk, and never gazes on the world he conquered. Egypt and Syria, even
farthest Ind, send forth their messengers to greet Alroy, the great, the
proud, the invincible. And where is he? In a soft Paradise of girls and
eunuchs, crowned with flowers, listening to melting lays, and the wild
trilling of the amorous lute. He spares no hours to council; all is left
to his prime favourites, of whom the leader is that juggling fiend I
sometime called my brother.
'Why rest I here? Whither should I fly? Methinks my presence is still a
link to decency. Should I tear off the ephod, I scarcely fancy 'twould
blaze upon another's breast. He goes not to the sacrifice; they say he
keeps no fast, observes no ritual, and that their festive fantasies will
not be balked, even by the Sabbath. I have not seen him thrice since
the marriage. Honain has told her I did oppose it, and she bears to me
a hatred that only women feel.
Pages:
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247