The two other doors facing on the hall opened and four chorus girls stepped out. They formed a line and pranced in. And while all the fountains were pouring, Thomas was listening and appraising, measuring, wincing, looking for Achilles Heel in each of the girls that could conceivably be a target to intelligence and love. And Sylvia incited them on. She held a pair of silk stockings up high, like Antony the last testament of Julius Caesar, and the symbol melded together the separate indignations of the feminine sex, struck where it hurts most, on their blessed hearths.
Women exeunt .
But Sylvia in a final spasm of disgust kicks Sterling squarely in the ass as he stoops over to pick up a loaf of bread. The poor chap, who has been stretching his muscles no-end for the cause, is managed and nearly shoves it into her oven. His good nature prevails and he listens to why he is at fault. They circle each other menacingly. Because I thought it was the worst Christmas present I ever received.