And then it amuses me to know how I can torture him.
"I never say a pleasant word to an admirer. Why, if I did, the fool would really think he had made an immense impression! I have my own special way of treating him; he always brings me a present, of course. I never thank him! Never! I look at it; find fault with it; laugh at it; mock the man; and finally when he does not know what to do, I condescend to lay it aside. That means acceptance. He buys a better present next time; every time he buys me something, I treat him worse than before. Much worse! I have tormented men until they cried—yes, cried: the ridiculous fools!
"No; the worse you treat men, the better they like you! And you know it is all passion—wind and foam and smoke—a fancy—a passing beat of the blood, for which a man would sacrifice my life
