one another. I and my art, they have nothing to do with each other. My art stands in another world, I am in this world.’

Her face was flushed and transfigured. Loerke who was sitting with his head ducked, like some creature at bay, looked up at her, swiftly, almost furtively, and murmured,

‘Ja — so ist es, so ist es.’

Ursula was silent after this outburst. She was furious. She wanted to poke a hole into them both.

‘It isn’t a word of it true, of all this harangue you have made me,’ she replied flatly. ‘The horse is a picture of your own stock, stupid brutality, and the girl was a girl you loved and tortured and then ignored.