Erich Maria Remarque. Decadence love (№ 197707)

Without a word, I firmly looked at her and stepped toward the door. Flashed the dagger, I felt as it entered the shoulder. Immediately blood came.
The next moment she is dropped the dagger, fell in front of me on my knees and cried and sobbed:
- I'm sorry. - She felt the wound. - I'm sorry...
I shook her hand, attached to the wound a handkerchief, leaves, coldly said:
- You almost won, Madam. But now - if you really did it, if you hit for real, I could not love you because of this action, because of your primal forces, because of the deep connection with nature, because of the powerful manifestations of sensual desire. But even in the moment of the most violent displays of your feminine essence and the most severe insults you thought. Cleopatra would have killed the man that had done so. And Pompadour'd stab him with a dagger. But you cowardly stopped halfway. You almost decided to act, but it was not you on the shoulder. You - not the essence of the desire and the spirit and the connection of these two elements. Just mixture. Not A Woman. Only being female. Come out soon to be married...