"They are bought by ladies less fortunate."
"Ladies who wear them?"
"Why, what else would they do? Wear them—of course, dear child."
Byng made a gesture of disgust. "Well, I call it sickening. To me there's something so personal and intimate about clothes. I think I could kill any woman that I saw wearing clothes of yours—of yours."
She laughed mockingly. "My beloved, you've seen them often enough, but you haven't known they were mine; that's all."
"I didn't recognize them, because no one could wear your clothes like you. It would be a caricature. That's a fact, Jasmine."
She reached up and swept his cheek with a kiss. "What a darling you are, little big man! Yet you never make very definite remarks about my clothes."
He put his hands on his hips and looked her up and down approvingly. "Because I only see a general effect, but I always remember colour. Tell me, have you ever sold your clothes to the Mart, or whatever the miserable coffin-shop is called?"
"Well, not directly."
"What do you mean by 'not directly'?"