"I tell you what, Mr. Women who Dids, and all that kind of thing. Courtlaw rose to his feet. That would be him. "Gad! it's a devilish fine face when lit up. His hat was placed upon one pole, his wig on another. He would raise her up once again, ply her with silks and jewels again, all of the accoutrements of the new generation: the cars, the toys, the restaurants, and the prestige. She realized more and more the quality of the brink upon which she stood—the dreadful readiness with which in certain moods she might plunge, the unmitigated wrongness and recklessness of such a self-abandonment. "My little fancy man's quite as fond of me as of you, Bess.
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