“But how can you?” asked Constance. “I wonder,” he said, “how you would like to be made love to—boldly or timorously or sentimentally. "But—sapperment!—I wish they hadn't broken my pipe. She said it audibly, having learned long since that an audible prayer was a concentrated one. It gave her joy to see them laughing, even though she was unsure of what she had done wrong. “This ain’t no place for you. I don’t have to take this shit. “I only use the weeniest little dab of rouge,” she declared, “and it is really necessary, because I want to get rid of the ‘pallor effect. We two just love each other—the real, identical other—all the time. ‘I am not French in the least, bête. The curtain before one mystery was torn aside, and she saw in reality what lay behind the impulse that had led her into the young man's room.
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