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They did hold séance that night in a fine spirit of lark, huddled together in the de-luxe sitting room of one of their suites, and little half-hysterical shrieks and much promiscuous ribaldry under cover of darkness. Madame de Butera was of a distinctly fat and earthy blondness, with a coarse-lace waist over pink, and short hands covered with turquoise rings of many shapes and blues.
Put it under your pillow." "You better watch out. There's a thirteenth letter in the alphabet; you might accidentally use it some day. You're going to have a sweet time to-night, you are!" "Why?" "The boys have engaged De Butera to come up to the rooms." "You mean the fortune teller over at the Stag Hotel?" "She's not a fortune teller, you poor nervous wreck.
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