“Most of it is ugly and frowsy,” she declared, “but it isn’t worth talking about. “I will MAKE you love me! Until he has faded—faded into a memory. ” So they went this time to the Rococo, in Germain Street, and up-stairs to a landing upon which stood a bald-headed waiter with whiskers like a French admiral and discretion beyond all limits in his manner. Like a trollop in heat. “If it will keep you busy,” he said, with a faintly ironical smile. Henceforth Ruth would closely observe her fellow women and note the hang of their skirts.
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