Ephemera (Buck)/Atropos

by Mitchell Starrett Buck

ATROPOS

—Thine hand . . . What wouldst thou?

—Thee.

—Me? . . . Man, there is no desire in thine eyes; thinkest thou it is polite to jest?

—Thy price?

—Truly? Art thou wealthy?

—Thy price!

—Well, friend, thirty drachmae to thee. But first, tell me . . .

—Where is thy dwelling?

—How strange thou art! . . . What hast thou to do with love?

—Nothing.

—Nothing? . . . Ah! . . .