'Damn that insufferable wretch,' thought Henry Higgins as he slammed the door to 27A Wimpole Street. 'Wasting your efforts and affections on a heartless guttersnipe.. how foolish of you, Higgins! How did you ever think that Eliza would-' no, her name hurt him too much. It was easier to call her names and pretend that she meant nothing, when really his heart was being wrenched in two. Walking through the room where his machine had traced her speech patterns, he ran his hand over the back of the chair where she had sat to practice her vowels.
"Ooh, you are a devil! You can twist the heart in a girl just as easily as some can twist her arms to hurt her!' she had said.
"Well, at least I've got a bit of my own back," Henry laughed wistfully.
"You have my voice on your gramophone. When you feel lonely without me, you can turn it on. It's got no feelings to hurt," she had said, standing tall and defiant. Well, he couldn't turn her soul on.
"What's the use?" he mumbled, running a hand through his hair as he found the first record he had made from that fateful day. He turned it on, collapsing into an armchair. The sound was tinny, and nowhere near as pleasing as her- Eliza's voice, but it would have to do.