The Radiant Hour
After a fortnight Anthony and Gloria began to indulge in “practical discussions,” as they called those sessions when under the guise of severe realism they walked in an eternal moonlight.
“Not as much as I do you,” the critic of belles-lettres would insist. “If you really loved me you’d want every one to know it.”
“I do,” she protested; “I want to stand on the street corner like a sandwich man, informing all the passers-by.”
“Then tell me all the reasons why you’re going to marry me in June.”
“Well, because you’re so clean. You’re sort of blowy clean, like I am. There’s two sorts, you know. One’s like d**k: he’s clean like polished pans. You and I are clean like streams and winds. I can tell whenever I see a person whether he is clean, and if so, which kind of clean h
