“Otherwise,” he continued to himself and moving to the kennels, patted the dogs, “otherwise a sojourn in Poland may improve you.”
[IX]
“The strawberries were delicious,” Violet, the following day, remarked to Leilah.
The two women were seated in the garden of the house in the rue de la Pompe. It was just after luncheon and between them was a table on which coffee had been served. From without came the whirr of passing motors, the cries of those hawkers who are never still. But the garden itself was quiet, scented too and the day superb.
Violet, patting a yawn, resumed: “One never really gets strawberries except in Paris. They are so big! And so expensive, aren’t they? I know that in a restaurant a man gave one to the waiter for a tip.”
She looked about her. “But, mercy! What can have become of Aurelia? She was to have stopped for me.”
“Don’t you think it unwise to let her go on the stage?” Leilah, with an air of talking for talk’s sake, inquired.