He saw the golden eyes jeering.
"And now clear out!" said Gerrit, shaking with fury, while sparks seemed to dazzle his eyes. "And never speak to me again and don't go thinking that you'll get any more money out of me, for I haven't got it. So it's finished: understand that. You look out for a young, rich fellow . . . and leave me alone. . . ."
"Oh, Gerrit, they're all beasts . . . all but you . . . all but you . . ."
"Well, beast or no beast," roared Gerrit, "you go this way now and I that, see?"
And he released himself, panting, snorting, quivering. He walked as fast as he could; and, when he looked round, she was out of sight, must have gone up the Riouwstraat. He breathed again, managed to catch a tram, stood on the front platform to get the wind in his face and cool his throbbing temples. . . . And all the time he was thinking:
"The girl's mad, to speak to me . . . to go kissing me! . . . I'd have done better not to give her any money. . . . Twelve years! . . . She looks older, but she's still a fine girl. . . . She's put on flesh and she was painted, which she never used to be. But she's still a fine girl. . . ."
Her kiss lingered on his mouth, like a burning pressure, as if she had sealed his lips with wax, the hot, melting wax of her kiss. And suddenly he had
