‘By just loving,’ she retorted in defiance.
He was still a moment, in anger. Then he said:
‘I tell you, I don’t believe in love like that. I tell you, you want love to administer to your egoism, to subserve you. Love is a process of subservience with you — and with everybody. I hate it.’
‘No,’ she cried, pressing back her head like a cobra, her eyes flashing. ‘It is a process of pride — I want to be proud — ’
‘Proud and subservient, proud and subservient, I know you,’ he retorted dryly. ‘Proud and subservient, then subservient to the proud — I know you and your love. It is a tick-tack, tick-tack, a dance of opposites.’