'...He gnawed his nails moodily as he lay staring at her. He felt justified in despising her, since he thought of himself as a reasonable-looking and still young man, in spite of the fact that he was older than she was, that his nose was a little crooked, and that baldness ran up like a boulevard to the crown of his head between two thinned thickets of fair curly hair. Still, he felt himself a man - what a man ought to be - and knew her to be absurdly faded and virgin - exactly what a woman ought not to be. Of course, he was an assiduous reader of Mr. Aldous Huxley.'
from Hope Against Hope, a piece in Hope Against Hope and other stories by Stella Benson
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