“So, since when does a grown man have to sneak behind the Laundromat to smoke a cigarette?” She asked 115 him. ‘You mean that his missus is pretending to be my mistress? Lord-a-mercy!’ ‘Precisely. Bring me clothing, I beg of you. His blood would be sweet with it. And Suzanne, even that she has behaved to me not at all like a mother, would also not have said. At last I tried a dramatic agent, and got on the music hall stage. Why shouldn’t we be martyrs? There’s nothing else for most of us, anyhow.
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