"Around the knees I mean, Ysobel. It's hard for me to walk."
"If it was any looser I'd get a fit of the laughs like I did over that red serge. If it was any looser—for Gawd's sake, leave that neck open! No, no; down like that! A strip of real, lily-white, garden-variety neck, and she wants to pin it shut!"
"I—I feel ashamed—I—I—kinda hate to leave it open."
"Shades of Vyette! Leave that neck alone, can't you? After all my preachin' yesterday, look where I landed you. Nowheres!"
"Like that, Ysobel?"
"Take the pin out, there; center left like that. Say, girl, I wish you knew about this game what I've forgot."
"Me, too, Ysobel."
"Say, listen to her warblin' down there, will you? What's she practisin' for, I wonder—a chaser act on a four-a-day circuit? Breathe in, girl, you may be a perfect thirty-six, but you'll never make a tape-measure see it your way."
"Shall I—shall I tell 'em I got a voice, Ysobel? Me and my little sister used to sing in—"
Miss Du Prez glanced up over Della's shoulder and, by proxy of the mirror, their eyes met. The red of exertion was high in her face, and one corner of her mouth compressed over pins, so that her words leaked out as through the lips of a faun.