It was a peculiar feature of his position that he found himself
unable to think of Elizabeth without thinking of Claire. He tried
to, but failed. Every virtue in Elizabeth seemed to call up the
recollection of a corresponding defect in Claire It became almost
mathematical. Elizabeth was so straight on the level they called
it over here. Claire was a corkscrew among women. Elizabeth was
sunny and cheerful. Querulousness was Claire's besetting sin.
Elizabeth was such a pal. Claire had never been that. The effect
that Claire had always had on him was to deepen the conviction,
which never really left him, that he was a bit of an ass.
Elizabeth, on the other hand, bucked him up and made him feel as
if he really amounted to something.
How different they were! Their very voices--Elizabeth had a sort
of quiet, soothing, pleasant voice, the kind of voice that somehow
suggested that she thought a lot of a chap without her having to
say it in so many words. Whereas Claire's voice--he had noticed it
right from the beginning--Claire's voice--
While he was trying to make clear to himself just what it was
about Claire's voice that he had not liked he was granted the
opportunity of analysing by means of direct observation its
failure to meet his vocal ideals, for at this moment it spoke
behind him.
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