(You
don't know what bloaters are? Well, I can't explain without being
rude.)
All the year round they can study _ad nauseam_ their own individual
bloaters; but this is the only occasion on which they have the whole
world of bloaters paraded in front of them for inspection. Now only
can they compare notes and exchange grievances.
And how closely they study the parade! Here is a pretty limousine, a
blonde; see how she watches the two huge exhibits in front of her.
They are very new bloaters, and one of them--oh, horror!--one of them
is going to buy. He has never bought before; she knows his sort. He
will drive her to death; he may even drive her himself; he will stroke
her lovely coat in a familiar, proprietary fashion; he will show her
off unceasingly to other bloaters till she is hot all over and the
water boils in her radiator. He will hold forth with a horrible
intimacy and a yet more horrible ignorance on the most private secrets
of her inner life. Not one throb of her young cylinders will be
sacred, yet never will he understand her as she would like to be
understood. He will mess her with his muddy boots; he will scratch her
paint; he will drop tobacco-ash all over her cushions--not from pipes;
cigars only.
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