You are mad, Quite mad. But in people like you, I suppose, itis called inspiration. Very well, young sir, put your arms about her again.
Pygmalion embraced the cold marble. He kissed the beautiful stiff lips, andthen he felt the stone flush with warmth. He felt the hard polished marble turn towarm silky flesh. He felt the mouth grow warm and move against his. He feltarms come up and hug him tight. He was holding a live girl in his arms.
Rise, beautiful ones. It is the morning of love. Go to mytemple, adorn it with garlands. You, Pygmalion, set about the altar those cleverlittle dolls of me you have made. Thank me loudly for my blessings for I fear themothers of Cyprus will not be singing my praises so ardently for some time.