clicking. Is that Boylan well off? He has money. Why? I noticed he had a good smell off his breath dancing. No use humming then. Allude to it. Strange kind of music that last night. The mirror was in shadow. She rubbed her handglass briskly on her woollen vest against her full wagging bub. Peering into it. Lines in her eyes. It wouldn’t pan out somehow.
Evening hours, girls in grey gauze.
Night hours then black with daggers and eyemasks.
Poetical idea pink, then golden, then grey, then black. Still true to life also.
Day, then the night.
He tore away half the prize story sharply and wiped himself