Tommy Dukes roared with laughter. “You angel boy! If only I had! If only I had! No; my heart’s as numb as a potato, my penis droops and never lifts its head up, I dare rather cut him clean off than say ‘shit!’ in front of my mother or my aunt⁠ ⁠… they are real ladies, mind you; and I’m not really intelligent, I’m only a ‘mental-lifer.’ It would be wonderful to be intelligent: then one would be alive in all the parts mentioned and unmentionable. The penis rouses his head and says: How do you do?⁠—to any really intelligent person. Renoir said he painted his pictures with his penis⁠ ⁠… he did too, lovely pictures! I wish I did something with mine. God! when one can only talk! Another torture added to Hades! And Socrates started it.”

“There are nice women in the world,” said Connie, lifting her head up and speaking at last.

The men resented it⁠ ⁠… she should have pretended to hear nothing. They hated her admitting she had attended so closely to such talk.