"I say," retorted Edgeworth Bess, with a very unfeminine imprecation, "I shan't stand any more of that nonsense. But God will punish you for what you have done this day. The subterranean level of the Diedermayer house was fully bedecked with every luxury known to mankind. Every girl in the world practically, except a few of us who teach or type-write, and then we’re underpaid and sweated—it’s dreadful to think how we are sweated!” She had lost her generalization, whatever it was. But in that case, why the raging jealousy about Madame having taken her place. She made herself serenely unaware of his existence, though it may be it was his presence that sent her by the field detour instead of by the direct path up the Avenue. D.
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