"Quick," cried the jester, "before they bandage him; quick! look
again," and when she shrank further back, he pushed her forward to the
very edge of the trap, until she could not help but see. "And couldst
thou love him now?" he asked, and keenly searched her face.
She said no word, but slightly swayed from side to side. She threw her
hands before her eyes, and dug her fists deep into them, as if to blot
the sight from her memory. She crouched, stunned and sickened. Her
hands dropped back to her breast; and the jester saw the expression of
her features.
There was no sign of love in her face; there was no tenderness or
pity. Only black horror and disgust; only a sullen, disappointed rage,
and a scowling disgust.
"They have made him as ugly as the king's gorillas," she sobbed. "Ugh!
he is ugly!"
The jester nodded his head mockingly. "Thou art right. They have made
him too foul for thee ever to love, have they not?"
"Love? God! I could not love a beast like that."
"Nor couldst thou even pity him--is he not too foul even for pity?"
"Nay, I'd never dare to pity such a thing.
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