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Updated: June 9, 2025
At twenty-one she was still playing at the Bijou, and into her face was creeping the first hint of that look of sophistication which comes from daily contact with the artificial world of the footlights. It is the look of those who must make believe as a business, and are a-weary. You see it developed into its highest degree in the face of a veteran comedian.
"I think she will do, Feltham," he said. The chauffeur touched his cap and grinned broadly. "She did it in thirty-eight minutes, sir; not bad for a twenty-mile run half of it through London." "Not bad," agreed Mr. Holland, slowly stripping his gloves. The car was drawn up at the entrance to the country cottage which a lavish expenditure of money had converted into a bijou palace.
Bijou!" her voice gathering courage as the maddening truth forced itself on her bewildered brain. Still no answer. She grew terrified at having broken the awful stillness. She strained her eyes to peer through the cruel darkness that enveloped her. No use it was only looking through one blackness into another.
"What a pretty object is your bijou between your swelling thighs, how closely the plump lips come together and how delicately they are shaded by the curling hair growing on that precious buttock! I must I must kiss it."
This was what the singer wrote to the Baroness, after twenty days of anxious search: "MADAME LA BARONNE, Monsieur Hulot was living, two months since, in the Rue des Bernardins, with Elodie Chardin, a lace-mender, for whom he had left Mademoiselle Bijou; but he went away without a word, leaving everything behind him, and no one knows where he went.
'His name is Ralph Summertrees, and he lives in a very natty little bijou residence, as the advertisements call it, situated in no less a fashionable street than Park Lane. 'I see. What has aroused your suspicions against him? 'Well, you know, that's an expensive district to live in; it takes a bit of money to do the trick.
I thought it might be a good thing, you know. And so I tried it, spooning, you know," said he placidly. "Oh, indeed!" commented Bijou sarcastically. "Very honorable of you, I am sure, and delightful for the girl to have such a disinterested admirer. How did it end?" "How you do pick,a fellow up!" remonstrated Mr. Ramsay amiably.
Bijou imagined that he must be "feeling dreadfully about it," and took great pains not to say anything that could wound his imaginary susceptibilities as the relative of a mauvais sujet. But the simple truth was that, once assured that respectable people were not being deluded or cheated by his cousin, Mr. Ramsay had no further sensitiveness on the subject.
"I beg your pardon," Coombe said. "You make me feel like a person who lives over a shop at Knightsbridge, or in bijou mansion off Regent's Park." But he was deeply aware that, as an outcome of the anomalous position he occupied, he not infrequently felt exactly this.
With nervous haste he bundled into his heavy garments and ran from himself and his imaginings into the dazzling embrace of the sun. He tramped to the gang at work above the Little Bijou Chute, where they raced the logs to the iron-hard ice of the river's surface far below.
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