Цитаты из книги Бархатные коготки

Beside Diana, Dickie rolled her eyes. 'Really Diana,' she said, 'what a bore this is!' 'What a bore!' I turned to her. 'Look at you, you old cow, dressed up in a satin shirt like a boy of seventeen. Dorian Gray? You look more like the bleedin' portrait, after Dorian has made a few trips down the docks!' Dickie twitched, then grew pale. Several of the ladies laughed, and one of them was Maria. 'My dear boy - !' she 'Don't "dear boy" me, you ugly bitch!' I said to her then. 'You're as bad as her, in your Turkish trousers. What are you, looking for your harem? No wonder they are off fucking each other with their enormous parts, if they have you as their master. You have had your fingers all over me, for a year and a half; but if a real girl was ever to uncover her tit and put it in your hand, you would have to ring for your maid, for her to show you what to do with it!' 'That's enough!' This was Diana. She was gazing at me, white-faced and furious, but still terribly calm.

'Nance,' she said, 'don't mind me asking, but - this friend: it is a girl, ain't it?' I snorted. 'Oh, Mrs Milne! Did you really think - ? Did you really think that I would - ?' That I would set up house with a man, was what she meant: me, with my trousers and my bar-bered hair! She blushed. 'I just thought,' she said. 'A girl can get herself hooked up by a feller, these days, quicker'n that. And what with you moving out so sudden, I was half convinced you'd let some gentleman or other make you a pile of promises. I should've known better.' My laughter rang a little hollowly then, as I thought of how near her thoughts ran to the truth, while yet remaining so far from it.

What she said was the truth: she had found out all my secrets; she had shown me to myself. Not just with the fierce words of that moment, but with all - the kisses, the caresses, the fuck on the chair - that had made her say them; and I was glad! I had loved Kitty -I would always love Kitty. But I had lived with her a kind of queer half-life, hiding from my own true self. Since then I had refused to love at all, had become - or so I thought - a creature beyond passion, driving others to their secret, humiliating confessions of lust; but never offering my own. Now, this lady had torn it from me - had laid me bare, as surely as if she had ripped the shrieking flesh from my white bones.

'You say I know nothing about you; but I have watched you upon the streets, remember. How coolly you pose and wander and flirt! Did you think you could play at Ganymede, for ever? Did you think, if you wore a silken cock, it meant you never had a cunt at the seam of your drawers?' Her face was very close to my own; she would not let me turn my eyes from hers. She said: 'You're like me: you have shown it, you are showing it now! It is your own sex for which you really hunger! You thought, perhaps, to stifle your own appetites: but you have only made them swell the more! And that is why you won't raise a row - why you still stay, and be my tart, as I desire.

I felt for a second - what I had not felt, it seemed, for a hundred years - the thrill of performing with a partner at my side, someone who knew the songs, the steps, the patter, the pose... The memory brought with it an old, dull ache of grief; but it was overlaid, in this new setting, with a keen, expectant pleasure. Here we were, this strange lady and I, on our way to I knew not what, playing whore and trick so well we might have been reciting a dialogue from some handbook of tartery! It made me giddy.