You've been spoilt and idolised to such an extent that it seems incredible to you to find a man who doesn't immediately fall down and worship you." Magda twisted her hands together.

Once more he was thrusting at her with the rapier of truth.

And it hurt--hurt inexplicably.
"Yes, I believe that's--almost true," she acknowledged falteringly.
"But if you understand so well, couldn't you--can't you"-- with a swift supplicating smile--"be a little more merciful ?" "No.

I--I _hate_ your type of woman!" There was an undertone of passion in his voice.

It was almost as though he were fighting against some impulse within himself and the fierceness of the struggle had wrung from him that quick, unvarnished protest.
"Then you despise dancers ?" "Despise?
On the contrary, I revere a dancer--the dancer who is a genuine artist." He paused, then went on speaking thoughtfully.
"Dancing, to my mind, is one of the most consistent expressions of beauty.