A giant lumbered in.
"Porgie!"
"Saw your husband speeding away--couldn't stand it, dropped in. Take me
upstairs--I want to see your shoe cabinet."
"Oh, don't spoil everything. Be my gentleman friend. Tell me about your
dreams and ideals--your rags--"
"Ah--rags--you do love me!"
"I don't know--but I love rags--sweet--so sweet--"
"You're a misfit here--as who isn't. All misfits, frauds--fakes--liars--"
"All?" Warble looked interested.
"Yes, you little simpleton. I know!" He growled angrily. "Shall I tell
you--tell you the truth about the Butterflies?"
"Pleathe--pleathe--"
"I will! You ought to know--you gullible little fool. Well, to start with,
Avery Goodman--in his true nature, he's a worldly, carnal man. His religion
is a cloak, a raincoat, a mere disguise. Mrs. Charity Givens, now, she's no
more truly charitable than I am! She's shrewd and stingy, her lavish gifts
to the poor are merely made for the sake of the praise and eulogy heaped
upon her by her admiring friends. Manley Knight, renowed for his bravery in
the war, is an arrant coward. His soul is a thing of whining terror, his
heroism but a mask. Oh, I know--I read these people truly, when they sit to
me--off guard and unconsciously betraying themselves.
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