Everywhere I went and rapped at a door I found behind it another dreadful dingy woman—another fallen queen, I suppose— dingier than the last, dirty, you know, in grain. ’ Gerald eyed her with interest. She hesitated in answering the door, her violin still crooked underneath her chin. He was in front of one of the more imposing of the cafés chantants—opposite, illuminated with a whole row of lights, was the wonderful poster which had helped to make ‘Alcide’ famous. Generations had been born and died in between the times she had gotten laid. From head to foot he was attired in the fashionable garb of the young man of the moment.
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