He thought she was going to cry.
"You are prettier than ever," he said. "Look!"
"No, no. It's all gone--all gone."
"What?"
"My looks, dearie. I could do without the paint once. I can't now."
Suddenly she turned to him with a sort of vulgar passion, that suspicion
of the hard young harridan, typical of the pavement, which he had
observed in her before.
"I should like to get the whole lot of men in here," she said, "and--and
chew them up."
She showed her teeth almost like an animal. Then the relapse,
characteristic of the hysterical condition in which she was, came.
"Never you treat me like the rest," she said, bursting into sobs; "never
you try anythin' on. If you do I'll kill myself."
This outburst showed to Julian that she was capable of a curious depth
of real sentiment that gave to her a glimpse of purity and the divinity
of restraint. He tried to soothe her and quickly succeeded. When she had
recovered they went out together to see about the making of the new
black dress, and before they parted he had persuaded Cuckoo to face the
"Empire" multitude on the fateful evening without her panoply of paint
and powder. She pleaded hard for a touch of black on the eyes, a line of
red on the lips.
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