rriage, miss Douce's wet lips said, laughing in the
sun.

He's looking. Mind till I see.

She darted, bronze, to the backmost corner, flattening her face against
the pane in a halo of hurried breath.

Her wet lips tittered:

--He's killed looking back.

She laughed:

--O wept! Aren't men frightful idiots?

With sadness.

Miss Kennedy sauntered sadly from bright light, twining a loose hair
behind an ear. Sauntering sadly, gold no more, she twisted twined a
hair.

Sadly she twined in sauntering gold hair behind a curving ear.

--It's them has the fine times, sadly then she said.

A man.

Bloowho went by by Moulang's pipes bearing in his breast the sweets
of sin, by Wine's antiques, in memory bearing sweet sinful words, by
Carroll's dusky battered plate, for Raoul.

The boots to them, them in the bar, them barmaids came. For them
unheeding him he banged on the counter his tray of chattering china. And

--There's your teas, he said.

Miss Kennedy with manners transposed the teatray down to an upturned
lithia crate, safe from eyes, low.

--What is it? loud boots unmannerly asked.

--Find out, miss Douce retorted, leaving her spyingpoint.

--Your _beau,_ is it?

A haughty bronze replied:

--I'll complain to Mrs de Massey on you if I hear any more of your
impertinent insolence.

--Imperthnthn thnthnthn, bootssnout sniffed rudely, as he retreated as
she threatened as he had come.

Bloom.

On her flower frowning miss Douce said:

--Most aggravating that young brat is. If he doesn't conduct himself
I'll wring his ear for him a yard long.

Ladylike in exquisite contrast.

--Take no notice, miss Kennedy rejoined.

She poured in a teacup tea, then back in the teapot tea. They cowered
under their reef of counter, waiting on footstools, crates upturned,
waiting for their teas to draw. They pawed their blouses, both of black
satin, two and nine a yard, waiting for their teas to draw, and two and
seven.

Yes, bronze from anear, by gold from afar, heard steel from anear, hoofs
ring from afar, and heard steelhoofs ringhoof ringsteel.

--Am I awfully sunburnt?

Miss bronze unbloused her neck.

--No, said miss Kennedy. It gets brown after. Did you try the borax with
the cherry laurel water?

Miss Douce halfstood to see her skin askance in the barmirror
gildedlettered where hock and claret glasses shimmered and in their
midst a shell.

--And leave it to my hands, she said.

--Try it with the