pause.

‘Why not?’ asked Gerald.

Loerke shrugged his shoulders.

‘I don’t find them interesting — or beautiful — they are no good to me, for my work.’

‘Do you mean to say a woman isn’t beautiful after she is twenty?’ asked Gerald.

‘For me, no. Before twenty, she is small and fresh and tender and slight. After that — let her be what she likes, she has nothing for me. The Venus of Milo is a bourgeoise — so are they all.’

‘And you don’t care for women at all after twenty?’ asked Gerald.

‘They are no good to me, they are of no use in my art,’