The Razor's Edge

by W. Somerset Maugham

“How did you sacrifice yourself?” “I gave Larry up for the one and only reason that I didn’t want to stand in his way.” “Come off it, Isabel. You gave him up for a square-cut diamond and a sable coat.” The words were hardly out of my mouth when a plate of bread and butter came flying at my head. By sheer luck I caught the plate, but the bread and butter was scattered on the floor. I got up and put the plate back on the table. “Your uncle Elliott wouldn’t have thanked you if you’d broken one of his Crown Derby plates. They were made for the third Duke of Dorset and they’re almost priceless.” “Pick up the bread and butter,” she snapped. “Pick it up yourself,” I said, seating myself again on the sofa. She got up and, fuming, picked up the scattered pieces. “And you call yourself an English gentleman,” she exclaimed, savagely. “No, that’s a thing I’ve never done in all my life.” “Get the hell out of here. I never want to see you again. I hate the sight of you.” “I’m sorry for that, because the sight of you always gives me pleasure. Have you ever been told that your nose is exactly like that of the Psyche in the museum of Naples, and that’s the loveliest representation of virginal beauty that ever existed. You’ve got exquisite legs, so long and shapely, and I never cease to be surprised at them, because they were thick and lumpy when you were a girl. I can’t imagine how you’ve managed it.” “An iron will and the grace of God,” she said angrily. “But of course your hands are your...