‘Now, madame, tell me all about your life in France. They seem to spend their time yawning and inspecting their neighbour’s dresses through those hateful glasses. She was dressed in a tattered black stuff gown, discoloured by various stains, and intended, it would seem, from the remnants of rusty crape with which it was here and there tricked out, to represent the garb of widowhood, and held in her arms a sleeping infant, swathed in the folds of a linsey-woolsey shawl. You would steal from me then the only man I ever cared a snap of the fingers about. And neither had any of that theatricality which demands gestures and facial expression. ” “I wonder how he treated Gwen.
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