"I hope you liked it," said Gus to John.
"Well," began John doubtfully, for he hardly knew what to say: but he got no further, for at that moment he had a very great surprise. Victoriana . . . walked up to him and slapped him in the face twice, as hard as she could . . .
"You may persecute me as much as you like," said Victoriana to John. "No doubt to see me thus with my back to the wall, wakes the hunting lust in you. You will always follow the cry of the majority. But I will fight to the end. So there," and she began to cry.
"I am extremely sorry," said John. "But --"
"And I know it was a good song," sobbed Victoriana, "because all great singers are persecuted in their lifetime -- and I'm per-persecuted -- and therefore I must be a great singer."
Poor Victoriana, stuck for all time in what Lewis calls the Silly Twenties, has no Human Rights Commission to run to, where she can have John up for "creating a poisoned atmosphere" and "exposing her to hatred and contempt" just because she's no good at what she does.
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