She was my first love. Hetty, looking out of the window—she always smoked her after-breakfast cigarette at the window for the benefit of the less advanced section of Morningside Park society—and trying not to raise objections, saw Miss Stanley going down toward the shops. "I'm dumb. She refused to accept her fate, but what is it that she could do about it? Night after night she invented alternatives. They are not bad girls, but the average tourist has that misconception of them. "Are you not that man's mistress?" demanded Mrs. I can no longer bear to address you by that formal madame.
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