Then he said: 'I tell you, I don't believe in love like that.

I tell you, you want love to administer to your egoism, to subserve you.

Love is a process of subservience with you--and with everybody.

I hate it.' 'No,' she cried, pressing back her head like a cobra, her eyes flashing.

'It is a process of pride--I want to be proud--' 'Proud and subservient, proud and subservient, I know you,' he retorted dryly.