A little Madeira seemed to recover her enough to resume the discussion. You would steal from me then the only man I ever cared a snap of the fingers about. She recognized the face but could not quite place it. She gathered her black purse, a pointless thing made of cardboard covered in sateen and bejeweled with an assortment of rhinestones. She could not resist enduing persons she met with the noble attributes of the fictional characters. If she spoke to a policeman she did not know what would ensue. He remembered little whispered speeches of hers, so like the Annabel of Paris, so unlike the woman he loved, a hundred little things should have told him long ago. "Time to dress for dinner," said Ruth from behind the curtain.
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