There were two or three others within this group. A Mrs. Denison, half French, and a younger girl called Babe. But Mrs. Drew and Hester were intimates. They dwaddled daily in one or the other's apartment, usually lazy and lacy with negligée, lounging about on the mounds of lingerie pillows over chocolates, cigarettes, novels, Pomeranians, and always the headache powders, nerve sedatives, or smelling salts, a running line of: "Lord! I've a head!" "I need a good cry for the blues!" "Talk about a dark-brown taste!" or, "There was some kick to those cocktails last night," through their conversation.
KITTY: "Br-r-r! I'm as nervous as a cat to-day."
HESTER: "Naughty, naughty bad doggie to bite muvver's diamond ring."
KITTY: "Leave it to you to land a pear-shaped diamond on your hooks."
HESTER: "He fell for it, just like that!"
KITTY: "You could milk a billiard ball."
HESTER: "I don't see any 'quality of mercy' to spare around your flat."
There were the two years of high school, you see.
"Ed's going out to Geyser Springs next month for the cure. I told him he could not go without me unless over my dead body, he could not."
"Geyser Springs. That's thirty miles from my home town."