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Updated: June 17, 2025
"Don't forget to put in something about a mother's knee," said Irais; "you can't write effectively about children without that." "Oh, of course I shall mention that," replied Minora. "And pink toes," I added. "There are always toes, and they are never anything but pink." "I have that somewhere," said Minora, turning over her notes.
Of frost? Oh, dear me, are you cold," cried Irais solicitously. "Well, it isn't exactly warm, is it?" said Minora sulkily; and Irais pinched me. "Well, but think how much colder you would have been without all that fur you ate for lunch inside you," she said.
Irais lit a cigarette, and leaning back in her chair, contemplated her critically beneath her long eyelashes. "You are writing a book?" she asked presently. "Well yes, I suppose I may say that I am. Just my impressions, you know, of your country. Anything that strikes me as curious or amusing I jot it down, and when I have time shall work it up into something, I daresay."
But then in my case they were only stepmother's, and nobody ever sings their praises." "My mother was always at parties," I said; "and the nurse made me say my prayers in French." "And as for tubs and powder," went on Irais, "when I was a baby such things were not the fashion.
Minora's are bony, with chilly-looking knuckles, ignored nails, and too much wrist. I feel very well disposed towards her when my eye falls on them. She put one forward now, evidently thinking it would be kissed too. "Did you know," said Irais, seeing the movement, "that it is the custom here to kiss women's hands?"
"You Don't Really Mean," Said Minora, "that You Only Wash Your Clothes Four Times A Year? "Yes, I do mean it," replied Irais. "Well, I think that is very disgusting," said Minora emphatically. Irais raised those pretty, delicate eyebrows of hers. "Then you must take care and not marry a German," she said. "But what is the object of it?" went on Minora. "Why, to clean the linen, I suppose."
"To hear you talk," said Irais, "no one would ever imagine that you dream away your days in a garden with a book, and that you never in your life seized anything by the scruff of its neck. And what is scruff? I hope I have not got any on me." And she craned her neck before the glass.
"But I can't fall upon her suddenly with a strange girl," I protested; "and we are not at all on such intimate terms as to justify my taking all my visitors to see her." "What do you want to see another interior for?" asked Irais.
She had found a kindred spirit, and it has been ruthlessly torn from her arms as kindred spirits so often are. It is enough to make her mope, and it is not her fault, poor thing, that she should have preferred the society of a Miss Jones to that of Irais and myself. At dinner Irais surveyed her with her head on one side. "You look so pale," she said; "are you not well?"
You know I am going to take a man's name." "That is precisely what I imagined," said Irais. "You will call yourself John Jones, or George Potts, or some such sternly commonplace name, to emphasise your uncompromising attitude towards all feminine weaknesses, and no one will be taken in."
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