“I’d rather go as a chorus-girl,” she said. ’ ‘I find that difficult to believe,’ snapped the general, jerking to and fro as his agitation mounted. He did not know—and probably never would unless she told him—that it was very easy (and comfortable for a woman) to fall into slatternly ways in this latitude. But what did the occupant of the box care? The laugh was always with the dead: they were out of the muddle. Not MY affair. She had a feeling at his departure as of an immense cavity, of something enormously gone; she could not tell whether it was infinite regret or infinite relief.
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