The Craze of Christina — page 39: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

The Craze of Christina. 35 The ladies pressed around him—they purred, they cooed, they coaxed, and now and again they stopped all three processes in order (meta- phorically speaking) to spit at one another. The wretched man laid his head on the table and simulated despair, for he felt that if he did not get rid of them he should dosomething des- perate. His distress only made matters worse. Mrs. Bruhen stroked his hair with gentle, doe- skin fingers; Miss Ashley caught at his hand and elenched it tightly between her own hot black suedes; but the climax came when Mrs. Ommaney with a gigantic heave lifted his head on to her ample bosom and held it tightly there with her grimy garden-gloves. ‘“‘Poor, dear boy, let me comfort you!” she © murmured, “‘let me be your support; | am a mother, and I can feel for you as only a mother can, my dear!”’ At that he sprang to his feet in a paroxysm of madness, scattering the hostile forces to the right and left of him. “Oh! go, go, go!’’ he shouted wildly. ‘‘What _ have I ever done that I should be so tortured and persecuted! Leave me in peace, all of you; I don’t want any of you; I won’t eat lunches with you, I won’t give you lunches; I don’t want your Mauds, or your wall papers, or your Comnlielsoolkks.e@