She turned to Frances, sitting smiling, her hands folded, her head poised on her long neck, her lips pursed ready to start talking again.
“No, I don’t like Paris. It’s expensive and dirty.”
“Really? I find it so extraordinarily clean. One of the cleanest cities in all Europe.”
“I find it dirty.”
“How strange! But perhaps you have not been here very long.”
“I’ve been here long enough.”
“But it does have nice people in it. One must grant that.”
Georgette turned to me. “You have nice friends.”
Frances was a little drunk and would have liked to have kept it up but the coffee came, and Lavigne with the liqueurs, and after that we all went out and started for Braddocks’s dancing-club.
The dancing-club was a bal musette in the Rue de la Montagne Sainte Geneviève. Five nights a week the working people of