. " The Wastrel advanced. Day after day she pounded him with curses, saying that her mother looked down on him from Heaven and sent a curse, to which he laughed. She looked at him confusedly, his black hair glinting under the dim lights. They don’t catch on to discursive interests, you see, because they are more serious, they are concentrated on the central reality of life, and a little impatient of its—its outer aspects. He never felt any need to explain himself. ‘You should be. She met his eyes for a moment, and could not interpret their expression. They’re just all men, and no one is safe from scandal. She left for good after he fell asleep.
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