I Sit At My Window And The

If All Good, Respectable People Had One Face, I'd Spit In It.

Not That She Objected To Solitude. Quite The Contrary. She Had Books, Thank Heaven, Quantities Of Books. All Sorts Of Books.

Yes, I Am Sad, Sad As A Circus-lioness, Sad As An Eagle Without Wings, Sad As A Violin With Only One String And That One Broken, Sad As A Woman Who Is Growing Old. Sad, Sad, Sad.

The Woman Had A Humble, Cringing Manner. Of Course, She Had Discovered That, Having Neither Money Nor Virtue, She Had Better Be Humble If She Knew What Was Good For Her.

It's Funny, He Said, Have You Ever Thought That A Girl's Clothes Cost More Than The Girl Inside Them?