full text
COMPARISON
A word-by-word comparison of text from the first edition (New York : Greenberg, 1931. 3rd Print/1933. 7th Print), the first UK edition (London : T. Werner Laurie Ltd., 1993) and the revised second edition (New York: Greenberg, 1948. 1st Print).
Tellier's revision shows a strong detail for grammar and cultural updates. Most of these updates simply eliminate dated text. For example, one of Marianne's outfits is swapped from lace with ostrich feathers to satin with a Persian buckle. Meanwhile, a driver "stepped on the gas" (1948, 241p) where he once "stepped on the accelerator of his car" (1931, 284). However, more notably, many changes present a new racial sensitivity. The N word is replaced with the less violent and age-appropriate "Negro," anti-Semitic comments and character names are removed and replaced, and the sinophobic conjectures of two characters are changed to be a past instead of a current oddity. Many racial stereotypes remain, however, such as Jean's association of loose sex, primal energy, and violence in the West Indies.
Other innocuous shifts declare changes in Tellier's values. For example, when Armand flees Lady Beverton's home, the very last thing he hears from the house is "the clatter of jazz" (1931, 140). To distance jazz from the negative association of Lady Beverton, Tellier updates it to "the pounding of brass music" (1948, 118). By the mid 1930's Tellier entered the jazz scene as a lyricist alongside several pianists—primarily Matt Mattlin, a jazz pianist and co-founder of a gay jazz bar.
Literary references also receive a heavy update. In the original text, Tellier suggests a contempt by the characters for the current writers of the day: Cabell, Rudyard Kipling, and William R. Service. These are swapped with authors enjoying a higher degree of literary relevance by 1948: Marcel Proust, W. H. Auden, and T. S. Eliot. This change provides a deeper look into the novel's setting and characters.
While a time period is never specified in text, the culture of the book places it firmly in the late 1920s. With the text published in January 1931 and his previous novel published the year before, Tellier likely set the novel during the short time it was completed: 1930. The new authors back this assumption. While the original three authors are more firmly a 1920s cast; the new authors shift that estimate towards the early 1930s, when Auden enjoyed popularity.
In addition, the shift of genre in the authors reveals more about the characters' awareness of the current publishing environment. Kipling and Service's adventurous short stories command a different market than Auden and Eliot's philosophical, modernist verse. Thus, in the first book, Tellier strikes an incompatible contrast of the Greenwich poets' niche, metaphysical, and emotion-based poetry against the Kipling-Service era of commercial fiction, rooted in popular drama, nostalgia, and adventure. In the revision, the Greenwich poets prove themselves more up-to-date with their established competitors: the current publishing environment is hostile from a surplus of free verse, not from a public which widely despises the modernist trend.
​
// Cabell > Proust
Sexuality & Censorship
T. Werner Laurie's 1933 edition of Twilight Men claims it is a complete reproduction of the 1931 3rd print. However, this version of omits and changes dozens of romantic interactions between the characters.
Revision & Modernization
Note: The sporadic inclusions from the 1931 text are from memory and a few pictures taken from NYPL's first edition 3rd print. I am in the process of updating the comparisons using my own 7th print.
1931. 5p. bear my name, and tell him nothing.
1933. xp. —
1948. 2p. bear my name, and tell him nothing.
​
1931. 7p. I won't see him—.
1933. xp. —
1948. 4p. I won't see him—
​
1948. 9p. business-man
1933. 12p. [Same as 1931]
1948. 6p. business man
​
1948. 12p. disgust of life
1933. xp. —
1948. 8p. disgust for life
​
1948. 15p. jewel-case
1933. xp. —
1948. 10p. jewel case
​
1931. 18p. Verriere
1933. 19p. [Same as 1931]
1948. 12p. Verrière
[spelling upheld throughout each text]
​
1931. 19p. Hegel's "Phenomenology of Mind."
1933. xp. —
1948. 13p. Hegel's Phenomenology of Mind.
​
1931. 22p. over the South wall.
1933. xp. —
1948. 15p. over the south wall.
​
1931. 23p. a signpost to his weakness, his essential cowardice.
1933. xp. —
1948. 16p. a signpost to his weakness, his desperateness.
​
​1933. 26p. Mon Dieu
1933. 26p. [Same as 1931]
1948. 18p. Mon Dieu
1931. 27p. to wear a smart trotteur
1933. 27p. [Same as 1931]
1948. 18p. to wear one's smartest outfit
​
1931. 27p. exquisite oval face, and she smiled
1933. xp. —
1948. 19p. exquisite oval face—and she smiled
​
1948. 29p. That's some better.
1933. 29p. That's better.
1948. 21p. That's somewhat better.
1933. 30p. Uncle
1933. 30p. Uncle
1948. 22p. uncle
​
1931. 33p. trivial things,—a new book,
1933. xp. —
1948. 23p. trivial things—a new book,
​
1931. 33p. promised to come, to tea on Monday.
1933. xp. —
1948. 24p. promised to come to tea on Monday.
​
1931. 34p. The Comte was making a joke of him.
1933. xp. —
1948. 24p. The Comte was again ridiculing him.
​
1931. 34p. "Because love, to me, means something quite different."
1933. xp. —
1948. 24p. "Because love to me means something quite different."
1933. 37p. "[...] the night darkened around them." [no text break]
1948. 28p. "[...] the night darkened around them." [text break]
1933. 42p. [...] no planning for Lucien. Tuberculosis is an unsleeping enemy. One morning might [...]
1948. 32p. [...] no planning for Lucien. One morning might [...]
1931. 45-46p.
"Have you come to eighteen and never kissed a woman?"
Armand had a sudden impulse to tell Lucien of Madam Dodon's kiss. A second impulse prevented him. That affair was not a thing to be discussed.
"No, I've never kissed a woman, but I have Henri."
"You've kissed Henri! The gardener?"
"Yes, I've kissed him."
His thoughtful brown eyes met Lucien's questioningly.
1933. 43p.
"Have you come to eighteen and never kissed a woman?"
Armand had a sudden impulse to tell Lucien of Madam Dodon's kiss. A second impulse prevented him. That affair was not a thing to be discussed.
"No, I've never kissed a woman, but I have embraced Henri."
"Henri! The gardener?"
"Yes."
His thoughtful brown eyes met Lucien's questioningly.
1948. 33p.
"Have you come to eighteen and never kissed a woman?"
"No, I've never kissed a woman, but I have Henri."
"You've kissed Henri! The gardener?"
"Yes, I've kissed him."
His thoughtful brown eyes met Lucien's questioningly.
1933. 47p. orange rouge
1948. 37p. orange lipstick
1933. 48p. Sauntering through Cartier's that morning [...]
1948. 37p. At Cartier's that morning [...]
1933. 50p.
[...] he was lost for words. There had been one moment of fleeting intimacy between them, yet he could find nothing to say to her.
"Are you always so serious?"
1948. 39p.
[...] he was lost for words.
"Are you always so serious?"
1931. 58p. Armand approached the affair with uncertainty. [no line break]
1933. 54p. [Same as 1931]
1948. 42p. Armand approached the affair with uncertainty. . . [line break]
1933. 58p. "You're quite unaware of the feeling that is shut up in your body."
1948. 46p. "You're quite unaware of the feeling that is shut up in the body."
1933. 76p. She was the first woman he had ever seen who had made looseness her business, and relied on it as the staff of life.
1933. 69p. [Same as 1931]
1948. 56p. She was the first woman he had ever seen who had made sex her business and relied on it for a living.
1931. 79p.
"I can lay my head on your bosom without torturing you as she would."
"I wonder."
"We could lie together in bed."
Lucien did not answer.
"Lucien."
"Yes, Armand?"
"I'll lie in your arms tonight just to show you."
At that, Lucien laughed outright.
1933. 72p.
"I can lay my head on your bosom without torturing you as she would."
At that, Lucien laughed outright.
1948. 58p.
[Same as 1931]
1933. 73p.
Oh well, days came and went and there were other days.
On the objects shadowed by midnight hovered the first gleam that was to create beauty out of darkness and bring him back, after a short period of nocturnal slumber, the serene shining of the sun. He slept.
1948. 59p.
Oh, well, days came and went and there were other days. . . He slept.
1933. 75p. negroes
1948. 60p. Negroes
1931. 86p. Hands stole out and entwined: "You do love me?" asked Lucien softly.
1933. 78p?. "You do love me?" asked Lucien softly.
1948. 63p. [Same as 1931]
1933. 80p. "[...] like old Solomon when he said, Tell me, oh thou whom my soul loveth, where though feedst. . ."
1948. 65p. "[...] like old Solomon when he said, 'Tell me, oh thou whom my soul loveth, where though feedst'". . .
1931. 89-90p.
He put his arms around Mareau and closed his eyes.
"In my dreams I've sometimes held you so," he whispered, "but when I've wanted to do so waking, you've always drawn away. Don't you care for me, Jean?"
"Tell me goodnight. Let me go."
Mareau disengaged himself [...]
1933. 81p.
He put his arms around Mareau and closed his eyes.
"Don't you care for me, Jean?"
"Say goodnight and let me go."
Mareau disengaged himself [...]
1948. 66p.
He put his arms around Mareau and closed his eyes.
"In my dreams I've sometimes held you so," he whispered, "but when I've wanted to do so waking, you've always drawn away. Don't you care for me, Jean?"
"Tell me goodnight. Let me go."
Mareau disengaged himself [...]
1933. 92p.
Nervously, she drew off her dressing gown, dressed herself again in the daintiest things she could find among her belongings. A gown of black lace and a negligee or coral with ostrich feathers.
1948. 76p.
Nervously, she drew off her dressing gown, clothed herself again in the daintiest things she could find among her belongings. A gown of black satin set off by a Persian buckle of silver and enamel.
1931. 106p.
"Men like Mareau don't love, they destroy you, body and soul."
He looked at her patiently, as if she were a child. It maddened her. "It's filth he offers, can't you see! It's lust of the most perverted kind. You don't believe me?"
"No."
1933. 95p.
"Men like Mareau don't love, they destroy you, body and soul."
He looked at her patiently, as if she were a child. It maddened her. "It's filth he offers, can't you see! You don't believe me?"
"No."
1948. 79p.
"Men like Mareau don't love; they destroy."
He looked at her patiently, as if she were a child. It maddened her. "It's filth he offers, can't you see! It's lust of the most perverted kind. You don't believe me?"
"No."
1933. 97p. His voice, low, intense, vibrant with hatred shook her like a terrible pounding wind redolent with thunder.
1948. 81p. His voice, low, intense, vibrant with hatred shook her like a terrible pounding wind.
1933. 98p.
"I'm sorry if I can't return what you feel for me,—but I cant." [...]
"You see, you say you love me,—well, I love Jean." [...]
"I can't believe you are a homo-sexual [...]"
1948. 81p.
"I'm sorry if I can't return what you feel for me—but I cant." [...]
"[You see, you say you love me—well, I love Jean." [...]
"I can't believe you are a homosexual [...]"
1933. 98p.
His frown disappeared. He laughed softly.
"I should be charmed, if you'll drop the jealousy."
"I'll be very good," she said and left the room.
1948. 82p.
His frown disappeared. He laughed softly.
"I'll be very good," she said and left the room.
1933. 102p. Then why should this sex organism attract her?
1948. 85p. Then why should this sex aberration attract her?"
1933. 103p.
She plucked at her pink chemise. "Beaten by a pair of men's shorts! Soon we shall be having poetry on the lure of elastic suspenders."
1948. 85-86p.
She plucked at her chemise. "Soon we shall be having poetry on the lure of men's shorts."
1933. 106p. "What a place! We'll go there,"
1948. 88p. "What a place! We'll go there."
1933. 107p. goodhumoured
1948. 89p. good-humored
1933. 108p. Maurice Grisset, died—when? . . . it gave him a feeling of sadness [...]
1948. 90p. Maurice Grisset, died—when? . . . It gave him a feeling of sadness [...]
1933. 109p. "[...] jet-black gleams for eyes . . ." it sounded fantastic.
1948. 90p. "[...] jet-black gleams for eyes . . ." It sounded fantastic.
1931. 122p.
"Yes, you do. There . . . that's better. Isn't it great to be here together?"
"You'd better go up to your room."
1933. 109p.
"Yes, you do. There . . . that's better."
"You'd better go up to your room."
1948. 91p.
[Same as 1931]
1931. 122-123p.
"I'm all right. Here, let me fix you. Rest your head here . . . yes . . . so . . . there . . . that's enough . . . here, what are you doing!"
"Do you love me, Jean?"
"I want you to go up to your room."
"You're not very nice to me."
"Really . . . now, Armand . . . I'm not going to allow . . ."
"Do you love me, Jean?"
"Armand, did you hear what I said?"
"Yes, Jean . . . hold my hand . . ."
"Don't be foolish. Here . . . come here . . . come . . ."
"The couch isn't very wide, is it?"
"It doesn't have to be. Now be quiet, will you?"
"Jean . . ."
"Well?"
"Aren't you my friend?"
"Rot! I love you, Armand."
"Yes, I know . . . Hold me tighter."
"So?"
"Yes, tighter. You have muscles like a Hercules. Do you hear the rain? A torrent, Jean."
"Mm. A torrent outside . . . a torrent inside."
"Don't get tropical, Jean."
"Do you know what you are?"
"What?"
"The Devil. The worst boy in the world."
"Really!"
1933. 110p.
"Rest your head here . . . yes . . . so . . . there . . . that's enough . . ."
"Do you love me, Jean?"
"I want you to go up to your room."
"You're not very nice to me."
"Mm. A torrent outside . . . a torrent inside."
"Don't get tropical, Jean."
"Do you know what you are?"
"What?"
"The Devil."
"Really!"
1948. 91-92p.
"Rest your head here . . . yes . . . so . . . there . . . that's enough . . . here, what are you doing!"
"Do you love me, Jean?"
"I want you to go up to your room."
"You're not very nice to me."
"Really . . . now, Armand . . . I'm not going to allow . . ."
"Do you love me, Jean?"
"Armand, did you hear what I said?"
"Yes, Jean . . . hold my hand . . ."
"Don't be foolish. Here . . . come here . . . come . . ."
"The couch isn't very wide, is it?"
"It doesn't have to be. Now be quiet, will you?"
"Jean . . ."
"Well?"
"Aren't you my friend?"
"Rot! I love you, Armand."
"Yes, I know . . . Hold me tighter."
"So?"
"Yes, tighter—do you hear the rain? A torrent, Jean."
"Mm. A torrent outside . . . a torrent inside."
"Don't get tropical, Jean."
"Do you know what you are?"
"What?"
"The Devil. The worst boy in the world."
"Really!"
1933. 113p.
What other way was there?He [sic] would have to go.
[...]
He wanted to believe it. [no text break]
In the library [...]
1948. 95p.
What other way was there? He would have to go.
[...]
He wanted to believe it. [text break]
In the library [...]
1931. 130p.
"I could almost love the world now . . . it has given me, you."
He pressed closer, laid an arm around his friend. "Jean . . . your love has glorified me."
1933. 116p.
"I could almost love the world now . . . it has given me, you."
"Jean . . . your love has glorified me."
1948. 97p.
[Same as 1931]
1931. 131p.
"I want you always with me, Jean . . . near . . . as close as . . ."
His arms embraced Jean.
"We lie here like pagans, rejoicing in a love that has been since the world began, but which is somehow struck off the white list of loves."
1933. 116p.
"I want you always with me, Jean . . ."
"We lie here like pagans, rejoicing in a love that has been since the world began, but which is somehow struck off the white list of loves."
1948. 98p.
[Same as 1931]
1931. 131p.
In his heart he felt justified by instinct, by the mystic drawing within him, by many clearly defined states of consciousness that achieved the same result of other loves. "It is love," he reflected, with the boy's soft cheek pressing his own.
Men alone denied the holiness and saw shame and degradation in one aspect of love,—honor and nobility in another.
1933. 116-117p.
In his heart he felt justified by instinct, by the mystic drawing within him, by many clearly defined states of consciousness that achieved the same result of other loves.
Men alone denied the holiness and saw shame and degradation in one aspect of love,—honor and nobility in another.
1948. 98p.
In his heart he felt justified by instinct, by the mystic drawing within him, by many clearly defined states of consciousness that achieved the same result of other loves. "It is love," he reflected, with the boy's soft cheek pressing his own.
Men alone denied the holiness and saw shame and degradation in one aspect of love—honor and nobility in another.
1931. 141p.
"Her maiden name was Greenbaum. Her father came over from Poland and climbed from rag-picking to real estate; he made a fortune. Stella, that's Bevy, probably thought the name of Greenbaum wouldn't get her far socially, so she asked Poppa to buy her a lord."
1933. 124p.
[Same as 1931]
1948. 104p.
"Her maiden name was Stanislaus. Her father came over from Poland and climbed from ditch-digging to real estate; he made a fortune. Stella, that's Bevy, probably thought the name of Stanislaus wouldn't get her far socially, so she asked Poppa to buy her a lord."
​
1933. 129p.
"Did you?" he inquired, his voice curling upwards. His face was crimson. She sat up abruptly. "What do you mean by that?"
1948. 108p.
"Did you?" he inquired, his voice curling upwards. His face was crimson.
She sat up abruptly. "What do you mean by that?"
1933. 131p. "We don't use that word any more over here. It's thought infra dig." He laughed.
1948. 110p. "We don't use that word any more over here." He laughed.
1933. 132p. "The threes's, eh? Not a very nice atmosphere."
1948. 110p. "The three s's, eh? Not a very nice atmosphere."
1933. 132p. "I know just enough French to say 'merci.'"
1948. 110p. "I know just enough French to say merci."
1933. 135p.
She wrinkled her nose in a way that made him laugh.
"But you haven't told me . . . are you new?"
1948. 113p.
She wrinkled her nose in a way that made him laugh. "But you haven't told me . . . are you new?"
1933. 137p. His thoughts reverted to something else she had said, that something was brewing.
1948. 116p. His thoughts reverted to something else she had said: that something was brewing.
​
1931. ?p. pyjamas
1933. 138p. pyjamas
1948. 116p. pajamas
[spelling upheld throughout each text]
1931. 160p. [...] there was the clatter of jazz and the clinking of cocktail shakers.
1933. 140p. [Same as 1931]
1948. 118p. [...] there was the pounding of brass music and the clinking of cocktail glasses.
​
1933. 145p. "How about a high-ball?"
1948. 121p. "How about a highball?"
1933. 146p.
"Don't expect miracles; a continued state of happiness [...] The world is forever harping on those two words, contentment and happiness. [...] Happiness comes to us in doses of a few minutes' duration only, I might say it's hardly ever felt except in love"
1948. 122p.
"Don't expect miracles. A continued state of happiness [...] The world is forever harping on those two words, contentment and happiness. [...] Happiness comes to us in doses of a few minutes' duration only. I might say it's hardly ever felt except in love"
1933. 148p.
"Yellow moons in heliotrope pyjamas! Execrable taste, my dear boy."
"I assure you they're a goodlooking pair."
1948. 123p.
"Yellow moons in heliotrope pajamas!"
"I assure you they're a good-looking pair."
1931. ?p. The swirling tulle of the women's gowns [...]
1933. 149p. [Same as 1931]
1948. 125p. The swirling stuff of the women's gowns [...]
1933. 152p. "Helen goes into rhapsodies over the post-impressionist poets."
1948. 127p. "Helen goes into rhapsodies over the abstract poets."
1933. 154p. On the upper shelves were the [...] essays from the Tauchnitz presses in Germany.
1948. 128p. On the upper shelves were the [...] essays from the famed Tauchnitz presses.
1931. ?p.
"Cabell worries me. I recognize the merit of his writing, his fine phrases and his hypodermic satire, but I have never been able to finish a book by him . . . never."
1933. 154p.
"Cabell worries me. I recognize the merit of his writing, his fine phrases and his hypodermic satire, but I have never been able to finish a book by him . . . never."
1948. 129p.
"Proust worries me. I recognize the merit of his writing, his fine phrases and his hypodermic psychology, but I have never been able to finish a book by him . . . never."
1931. 178p.
"You have the true virginal mind, Bibsey," purred Mildred, reaching out and stroking his hair. "Cabell is a cat worrying at your hidden complexes. He is Anatole France under the influence of opium."
"And speaking of France," cried Bibsey, turning towards her suddenly. "Have you seen Papé's decorations for La Révolte des Anges? He is the first man who has convinced me that heaven might be a desirable place after all. Really, if angels indulge as a regular thing, in such charming naughtiness . . . they not only carry their halos under their arms, but they have quite dispensed with those long, woolen nighties . . . and I'm sure lambs are quite out of fashion up there except as adjuncts to pineapple salad. And his devils are delightful little rascals—they look as though they had just climbed out of the coal-scuttle!"
"But it's no use, Bibsey, you'll never go to heaven, your guardian angel has been in the coal-scuttle so long they could never scrape him clean again. And as for his halo, you probably pawned it long ago and lost the ticket. No, no, Bibsey, you'd better concentrate on those charming little devils who know all the questions and answers."
"Then I shall follow St. Paul's advice and get married."
"Why?"
"He said it is better to marry than to burn, and I daresay it's a very passable imitation of hell. But there's the rest of the gang."
There was a knocking again at the door, and this time a middle-aged woman entered [...].
1933. 155p.
"You have the true virginal mind, Bibsey," purred Mildred, reaching out and stroking his hair. "Cabell is a cat worrying at your hidden complexes. He is Anatole France under the influence of opium."
"And speaking of France," cried Bibsey, turning towards her suddenly. "Have you seen Papé's decorations for La Révolte des Anges? He is the first man who has convinced me that heaven might be a desirable place after all. Really, if angels indulge as a regular thing, in such charming naughtiness . . . they not only carry their halos under their arms, but they have quite dispensed with those long, woolen nighties . . . and I'm sure lambs are quite out of fashion up there except as adjuncts to pineapple salad. And his devils are delightful little rascals—they look as though they had just climbed out of the coal-scuttle!"
"But it's no use, Bibsey, you'll never go to heaven, your guardian angel has been in the coal-scuttle so long they could never scrape him clean again. And as for his halo, you probably pawned it long ago and lost the ticket. No, no, Bibsey, you'd better concentrate on those charming little devils who know all the questions and answers."
"Then I shall follow St. Paul's advice and get married."
"Why?"
"He said it is better to marry than to burn, and I daresay it's a very passable imitation of hell. But there's the rest of the gang."
There was a knocking again at the door, and this time a middle-aged woman entered [...].
1948. 129p.
"You have the true virginal mind, Bibsey," purred Mildred, reaching out and stroking his hair.
There was a knocking again at the door, and this time a middle-aged woman entered [...].
1931. 178p. "What is he, Stephen, a bootlegger hiding from justice?" [...] "I specialize in Madonnas," she laughed.
1933. 156p. "What is he, Stephen, a bootlegger hiding from justice?" [...] "I specialize in Madonnas," she laughed.
1948. 130p. "What is he, Stephen, a moth flying to his flame?" [...] "I specialize in moths," she laughed.
1931. 180p.
"But since then—lord, the mammy songs are common as cinders. Nowadays, the niggers do that sort of thing best."
Armand was curious. "The niggers?" he asked. He recalled Jean Mareau telling of life in the West Indies, and the recollection brought a sharp pain. "Where do you go to hear the niggers sing?" he asked.
1933. 158p.
[Same as 1931]
1948. 131p.
"But since then—Lord, ballads songs are common as cinders. Nowadays, the Negroes do that sort of thing best."
Armand was curious. "The Negroes?" he asked. He recalled Jean Mareau telling of life in the West Indies, and the recollection brought a sharp pain. "Where do you go to hear the Negroes sing?" he asked.
​1931. 182p.
"In China, they put new-born children into twisted vases." [...] "They bind their women's feet, so why not make gew-gaws of their superfluous offspring?"
1933. 159p.
[Same as 1931]
1948. 132p.
"In China, they used to put new-born children into twisted vases." [...] "They used to bind their women's feet, so why not make gew-gaws of their superfluous offspring?"
1933. 159-60p. "Read the Arabian Nights and you can believe almost anything of the Orient."
1948. 133p. "Read the Arabian Nights and you can believe almost anything of the Orient."
1933. 160-61p.
"No thanks."
Through the jangle of sound, Bibsey was shouting. "By Jove, we haven't anything like it over here. Green lighting . . . out of a copper sky. And all the little clouds turning somersaults over the big ones."
"Hectic!" yawned Mildred drawing him with both hands toward the sofa. "Ask me another, Bibsey."
"To experience one storm like that is enough for a life-time."
"Where do you expect to go when you die, Bibsey?" asked Jerry laughing. "To a special place reserved for liars?"
"What do you mean? I'll never be appreciated until I'm gone."
"That's so. Six feet of sod cover a multitude of lies."
"He's the third son of some big bug over in London," Don whispered. "His father got tired of hearing his stories and pays him a quarterly allowance to stay away."
Amid general laughter, Mildred gave Bibsey a resounding kiss. "Are you still dieting, Bibsey"? she asked. "I think it's making you see things. What are you living on now?"
"Blade of air," sighed Bibsey plaintively. "An untaxable luxury."
"Why don't you try the grass in Central Park?" asked Jerry sympathetically.
"Like Nebuchadnezzar," said Helen Havelock, but Bibsey didn't answer. He had made his last sally for the evening, and was now sleeping off his highballs in some preposterous Nirvana of his own.
Much later, when the last conscious guest had departed [...].
1948. 133p.
"No thanks." [text break]
Much later, when the last conscious guest had departed [...].
1931. 188p. "No, they published only Kipling and Service, thank you." [...] Not until you're as famous as Kipling or Service."
1933. 164p. [Same as 1931]
1948. 136p. "No, they published only Eliot and Auden, thank you." [...] Not until you're as famous as Eliot and Auden."
1933. 165p. In modern publishing this was the test, the issuance of a limited edition to retail at five dollars the volume.
1948. 137p. In modern publishing this was the test, the issuance of a limited edition to retail at ten dollars the volume.
1933. 166p. Not the lady in person, but something nearly as disturbing,—a note from her.
1948. 138p. Not the lady in person, but something nearly as disturbing—a note from her.
1933. 167p.
"You could start discussing the League of Nations with Marianne Dodon and before you knew you'd be involved in an argument of sex." [...] "Does she know the way you feel? . . ."
1948. 138p.
"You could start discussing the fourth dimension with Marianne Dodon and before you knew you'd be involved in an argument of sex." [...] "Does she know the way you feel?"
1933. 168p. [...] the gulf between them was a thing she, nor any woman could ever cross.
1948. 140p. [...] the gulf between them was a thing she, nor any woman, could ever cross.
1931. ?p. Count Stockoff
1933. 168p. [Same as 1931]
1948. 140p. Count Orensky
[change upheld throughout each text, i.e. 169:140, 172:143, 222:187, 239:202]
1933. 171p. "I love them, Armand, they are a part of you."
1948. 142p. "I love them, Armand; they are a part of you."
1933. 175p. They were in the roadster now.
1948. 146p. They were in the coupe now.
1933. 176p. East forties
1948. 146p. East Forties
1933. 177p. [...] the homo-sexual who has lived past the age of physical attraction [...].
1948. 147p. [...] the homosexual who has lived past the age of physical attraction [...].
1933. 178p.
"Of course not," he said, but he did mind. The negro adores being thought a white man, and the most Semitic of Jews is grateful for the insinuation that he might be a Nordic.
"This is an interesting place," MacKin said.
1948. 148p.
"Of course not," he said, but he did mind.
"This is an interesting place," MacKin said.
1933. 180p. "Give me a drink, somebody," he said. "My God, I'm not a nickelodeum [sic]."
1948. 150p. "Give me a drink, somebody," he said. "My God, I'm not a juke-box."
1933. 193p. Don, liquor and narcotics, three factors that had done for stronger characters than Armand's.
1948. 162p. Sex, liquor, and narcotics, three factors that had done for stronger characters than Armand's.
1933. 195p. Armand looked up and drew a breath. Stephen was going to start moralizing again! For every comfortable moment [...]
1948. 163p. Armand looked up and drew a breath. Why must Stephen be always sermonizing! For every comfortable moment [...]
1933. 201p. She had put out little feelers all afternoon, he had waved them away with feelers of his own.
1948. 169p. She had put out little feelers all afternoon; he had waved them away with feelers of his own.
1933. 206p.
In the centre of the room Percy and Cyril, their long hair dangling, clinched in a dance, executed to the mandolin accompaniment strummed by a pallid companion.
1948. 173p.
In the center of the room Percy and Cyril, their long hair dangling, clinched in an abandoned cheek-to-cheek dance, executed to the concertina accompaniment improvised by a pallid companion.
1933. 207p. "Oh Hell!"
1948. 174p. "Oh, hell!"
1933. 208p.
He swept past him and minced to the door, followed by laughter. Don covered Armand's shoulders carefully with Helen's light wrap. Armand jerked his head towards Stephen. "Au revoir," he lisped and was gone, leaving on Helen's arm.
1948. 174-175p.
He swept past him and minced to the door, followed by laughter. Outside the door Don waited. "Will you come with me after the show is over?" He covered Armand's shoulders carefully with Helen's light wrap. Armand did not hear Don's remark. He jerked his head towards Stephen. "Au revoir," he lisped and was gone, leaving on Helen's arm.
1933. 208p. "They've taken him to the police station."
1948. 175p. "They've taken him to the station house."
[change upheld throughout each text, ie 211:177]
1933. 209p.
"Folks, we've got to raise five hundred dollars in cash."
There was a general stir, everybody digging into their pockets. Bibsey brought forth a cheque-book.
1948. 176p.
"Folks, we've got to raise some cash."
There was a general stir, everybody digging into their pockets. Bibsey brought forth a check-book.
1933. 210p.
she [sic] beckoned to the boy with the mandolin, who sat in a corner hugging a bottle of wine. [...] "Search him, Frank. Them mandolin players always have something hidden in their bloomers."
1948. 176p.
she [sic] beckoned to the boy with the concertina, who sat in a corner hugging a bottle of wine. [...] "Search him, Frank. Them concertina players always have something hidden in their panties."
1933. 215p. "'House Party.' Ever read it?"
1948. 180p. "House Party. Ever read it?"
1933. 215p. "Indicative of your whole character, n'est-ce pas?"
1948. 181p. "Indicative of your whole character, n'est-ce pas?"
1933. 216p. "I live in a hotel suite all by myself, will you let me number you among my friends?"
1948. 181p. "I live in a hotel suite all by myself; will you let me number you among my friends?"
1933. 216-217p.
He stood at the window so deeply absorbed in his thoughts that he started when Stephen's voice addressed him.
"Adrian Ware—Hotel Princeton—Room 807."
Armand read the card surreptitiously and hit it in his pocket. A telephone call from Marianne jangled his thoughts.
1948. 182p.
He stood at the window deeply absorbed in his thoughts.
"Adrian Ware—Hotel Princeton—Room 807."
Armand read the card surreptitiously and hit it in his pocket. A telephone call from Marianne jangled his thoughts.
1933. 218p. negligée
1948. 183p. negligee
1933. 218p. There was something, someone, she must find out.
1948. 183p. There was something, someone—she must find out.
1933. 223p.
Very gradually Adrian's personality was assuming its dominance over his own.
At the end of a month he was so filled with the thought of it, so wrapped up in Adrian, that he began to lose all interest in his other friends.
1948. 187-188p.
Very gradually Adrian's personality was assuming its dominance over his own. Very slowly, affectionate demonstrations were becoming a need. Adrian would stroke his hair. He would hold out his hand to him.
The splendor of this stage of love, the adolescent glow of it, seemed to him the very pinnacle of happiness. Yet he felt there was something more to look for—the completeness which he was never been able to feel with Don or Stephen.
At the end of a month he was so filled with the thought of it, so wrapped up in Adrian, that he began to lose all interest in his other friends.
1933. 223p.
Don openly expressed indignation, when for the sixth time Armand pleaded an engagement with Ware as an excuse for not going out with him.
1948. 187-188p.
Don openly expressed indignation, when, for the sixth time Armand, pleaded an engagement with Ware as an excuse for not going out with him.
​
1933. 226p.
He wondered why Stephen felt such an attraction toward him. He had an instinctive sympathy with all that Adrian said or did.
1948. 190p.
He wondered why Stephen felt such an overweening attraction toward him. Stephen seemed to regard him as a toy, something born to give him pleasure. He tried to absorb, to possess him utterly. He was weary of it, this passionate devotion that brought wrinkles to the corners of his eyes, particularly since he had met Adrian. He wondered whether Adrian's love was deeper than Stephen's or Don's. He wished he knew. He had an instinctive sympathy with all that Adrian said or did.
1933. 227p. They dined at Pierre's, and later dropped in at the Follies.
1948. 191p. They dined at Pierre's, and later dropped in at the Carnegie for a concert.
1933. 228p.
"[...] he was quite old when I met him."
"Here we are!"
1948. 192p.
"[...] he was quite old when I met him." [text break]
"Here we are!"
1933. 228p. fore-shadowing
1948. 193p. foreshadowing
1933. 230p.
"I think we'll have a fine day next Saturday, don't you? May I come up? What are you doing?"
"Not now . . ."
1948. 194p.
"I think we'll have a fine day next Saturday, don't you?"
"Did you call me up to tell me that, Adrian?"
"No, to make a confession."
"Make it, then."
"I don't know if I dare."
"Yes, you do."
"Well, I just had to hear your voice."
"Silly!"
"Isn't it? May I come up? What are you doing?"
"Not now . . ."
1933. 230p. weekend
1948. 194p. week-end
1933. 230p. "He's giving a party."
1948. 194p. "He's giving a party for his new boy-friend."
1933. 231p.
It disturbed him as something unprecedented. Armand had said certain things that made him feel [...]
1948. 195p.
It disturbed him as something unprecedented. He loved the boy, but the adoration he had evoked in return seemed to him out of proportion. There was a fierce sense of danger in it. Armand had said certain things that made him feel [...]
1933. 233p. "You're slow?!"
1948. 197p. "You're slow!"
1933. 234p. Count Stuckup
1948. 198p. Count Orensky
1933. 235p. [...] fifty-seven varieties of grilling.
1948. 198-199p. [...] 57 varieties of grilling.
1933. 236-237p.
Why must one's life get into such tangles of emotion? Would all intimate, personal contact always lead to such cross-currents of resentment and jealousy? They should understand that he must have freedom, complete freedom of thought and action, it was unfair to impose retrospection on one who does not wish to remember, by meetings to probe into conduct. Stephen talked a great deal about devotion. Armand was devoted to Adrian. A disagreeable little thought rushed in to say that according to that he was also devoted to Philip and to John Wright, but he closed his mind to it.
The past experiences had made him what he was now. Why bother about it, the perversity of fate would have its way. He was always being attracted by a new face, a new personality, and his conveniently white-washing mind called the excursions from fidelity, esthetic appreciation.
He had never analyzed his relations with Adrian [...]
1948. 199p.
Why must one's life get into such tangles of emotion?
He had never analyzed his relations with Adrian [...]
1933. 238p.
He would instruct Adrian for hours in the best approach to serenely golden chastity.
1948. 200-201p.
He would instruct Adrian for hours in the best approach to serenely golden chastity, and then proceed to excite him to a pitch of desire.
1933. 238p. [...] his recent verse was reminiscent of a moon-struck flapper.
1948. 201p. [...] his recent verse was reminiscent of moon-struck adolescence.
1933. 238p. [...] the shades of night reduce him to a lover.
1948. 201p. [...] the shades of night reduce him to an infinitely sensual and eager lover.
1933. 238p. homo-sexual
1948. 201p. homosexual
1933. 238p.
[...] as he had planned before Don's call.
One night, as he lay resting [...]
1948. 201p.
[...] as he had planned before Don's call. [text jump]
One night, as he lay resting [...]
1933. 243p. "Do you think it bold of me to come here after . . .?"
1948. 205p. "Do you think it bold of me to come here after . . ."
1933. 245p. Armand ignored the implication.
1948. 207p. Armand ignored the sarcasm.
1933. 246p. "[...] with your flapper manners and your head full of hop?"
1948. 208p. "[...] with your bad manners and your head full of hop?"
1933. 246p. "Good-bye."
1948. 208p. "Goodbye."
1933. 247p. "What I said, I said brutally, Armand and I'm sorry."
1948. 209p. "What I said, I said brutally, Armand, and I'm sorry."
1933. 251p.
[...] that he might feast his famished eyes, but such a gesture would have been completely harmonious with Armand's appearance.
[...]
The change frightened Stephen, it disgusted Armand.
1948. 212p.
[...] that he might feast his famished eyes; but such a gesture would have been completely harmonious with Armand's appearance.
[...]
The change frightened Stephen; it disgusted Armand.
1933. 254?p.
But the Judge was not at home, even though strange and erotic music played by the world's greatest pianist, filled the apartment [...]
1948. 215p.
But the Judge was not at home, even though strange and erotic music, reminiscent of a famous pianist, filled the apartment [...]
1933. 256p. pretence
1948. 216p. pretense
1933. 256p. "Not that he eats a thing, sir, he's always sleeping."
1948. 217p. "Not that he eats a thing, sir; he's always sleeping."
1933. 258p. croci
1948. 218p. crocuses
1933. 262p.
Mon cher Armand,
J'éspère que vous me honorez avec votre presence mercredi après-midi. Il faut que je parle avec vous des choses importantes à nous deux.
Edmond de Rasbon.
1948. 222p.
"My Dear Armand
"I hope you will honor me with your presence Wednesday afternoon. It is absolutely necessary that we discuss a matter important to us both.
Edmond de Rasbon"
1933. 263p. [...] shutting himself up like a convert.
1948. 222p. [...] shutting himself up like an anchorite.
1933. 265p. [...] which he had given up so long ago, only now he was going at it from another angle.
1948. 224p. [...] which he had given up so long ago; only now he was going at it from another angle.
1933. 267p. There was an etching by Goya,—a beastly thing [...]
1948. 226p. There was an etching by Goya—a beastly thing [...]
1933. 270p. "But I understand it now, Monsieur, I think I understand it quite well."
1948. 228p. "But I understand it now, Monsieur; I think I understand it quite well."
1933. 277p. [...] before the Comte had turned again in his pacing walk brought it down [...]
1948. 234p. [...] before the Comte had turned again in his pacing walk, brought it down [...]
1933. 283p. Armand had not known where to direct the chauffeur to drive.
1948. 240p. Armand had not known where to direct the driver.
1933. 284p. "Eleventh Avenue. It's a street of oubliettes."
1948. 241p. "Eleventh Avenue. It's a street of oubliettes."
1933. 284p. The driver stepped on the accelerator of his car, and they shot forward at a rapid pace.
1948. 241p. The driver stepped on the gas, and they shot forward at a rapid pace.
1933. 289p. Stephen went through hell.
1948. 245p. Stephen went through agony.
1933. 293p. The story was on the front page.
1948. 249p. The story was in headlines.
1931. ?p. THE END
1933. 296p. THE END
1948. 251p. [no text]