There was little fighting spirit here. She walked with long swinging steps, scorning the thought of buses or the tube. “I don’t think you see,” she replied, with tears on her cheeks, and her brows knitting, “how it shames and, ah!—disgraces me—AH TISHU!” She put down the tray with a concussion on her toilet-table. Blue haze had settled beyond the black silhouettes of trees, graduating to the deep violet that began the night sky. She washed her face twice after making smudgy eyeshadow and lipstick errors. Stanley.
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