Verbeena vertigoed.
[CHAPTER VI]
When Verbeena came to she was the only one present. Outside she could hear the Sheik’s horses whinnying among their oats and the incessant chaffing of his men. They swarmed outside there. And inside were other swarms. These were of flies and sandfleas. She was more or less grateful to them. They kept her for some little time from thinking of anything else.
But, of course, eventually she had to begin to draw a few conclusions. The design of these proved cubistic and the coloring all to the palpitant pink, Gaugin green and yammering yellow.
She sought pushing herself around on the divan trying to get away from herself, but always returned.
Finally she sat up with her chin between her knees and her arms around her ears in a posture known to her blithesome boyish days as the “caterpillar crouch.”
But by no mental arrangement could she devise for herself a dittology regarding the cataclysmic cropper attendant upon her career and felt herself, therefore, thoroughly unmanned as well as fatally deladyized.
She knew she’d never be able to look anybody in the face again. Especially a camel. Camels always had such nasty, disdainful expressions.