"Inflammatory classics."
"What's that?"
"Celibacy, my dear Benham, is maddening me," said Prothero. "I
can't stand it any longer."
It seemed to Benham that somewhere, very far away, in another world,
such a statement might have been credible. Even in his own life,--
it was now indeed a remote, forgotten stage--there had been
something distantly akin. . . .
"You're going to marry?"
"I must."
"Who's the lady, Billy?"
"I don't know. Venus."
His little red-brown eye met his friend's defiantly. "So far as I
know, it is Venus Anadyomene." A flash of laughter passed across
his face and left it still angrier, still more indecorously defiant.
"I like her best, anyhow. I do, indeed. But, Lord! I feel that
almost any of them--"
"Tut, tut!" said Benham.
Prothero flushed deeply but stuck to his discourse.
"Wasn't it always your principle, Benham, to look facts in the face?
I am not pronouncing an immoral principle. Your manner suggests I
am. I am telling you exactly how I feel. That is how I feel. I
want--Venus.
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