Been made a jay of, if the truth
was known. She was a Christmas-tree bauble and was expected to throw off
holiday iridescence. There were limits!
"You're off your feed, girl. Go off by yourself and speed up."
"It's the nights, Gerald. Good God--I mean Wheeler! They kill me. I
can't sleep. Can't you get a doctor who will give me stronger drops? He
doesn't know my case. Nerves, he calls it. It's this head. If only I
could get rid of this head!"
"You women and your nerves and your heads! Are you all alike? Get out
and get some exercise. Keep down your gasoline bills and it will send
your spirits up. There's such a thing as having it too good."
She tried to meet him in lighter vein after that, dressing her most
bizarrely, and greeting him one night in a batik gown, a new process of
dyeing that could be flamboyant and narrative in design. This one, a
long, sinuous robe that enveloped her slimness like a flame, beginning
down around the train in a sullen smoke and rushing up to her face in a
burst of crimson.
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