He saw that Roark’s eyes were not empty and scornful, but attentive and wondering.
He did it as an act of scorn.
This spared him any attempt to reach, reason or see; and it cast a nice reflection of scorn on those who made the attempt.
The acceptance was infinitely more scornful.
The woman scorned.
She sat looking at him as she always did; her glance had tenderness without scorn and sadness without pity.
He asked, in a voice devoid of all clue to the purpose of the question, neither in approval nor scorn: "You’re the architect who built the Stoddard Temple, aren’t you, Mr. Roark?"
He thought that she owed him nothing, or every kind of anger and scorn she could command; and yet there was a human obligation she still had toward him: she owed him an evidence of strain in this meeting.
He thought: If she were completely the spinster, the frustrated social worker, as people think of those women, the kind who would scorn sex in the haughty conceit of her own virtue, that would still be recognition, if only in hostility.
This was just like Toohey, thought Keating; this pose amidst the severe fastidiousness of his living room; a single canvas by a famous artist on the wall behind him—and the rest of the room unobtrusive like a monk’s cell; no, thought Keating, like the retreat of a king in exile, scornful of material display.
A SIGN hung over the entrance door, a reproduction of the paper’s masthead: # THE NEW YORK BANNER # The sign was small, a statement of fame and power that needed no emphasis; it was like a fine, mocking smile that justified the building’s bare ugliness; the building was a factory scornful of all ornament save the implications of that masthead.
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Show samples from other sources
Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.
That coach scorns students who don’t have natural ability.