too long, and always left a yellowish feeling in the mouth, as of oakum, okra or mulligatawny.
And yet, poor thing, her craving for masculine attention amounted almost to erysipelas. At the faintest sign of approval Angie would pursue a man madly all the way across the Brooklyn Bridge, and then break into his house and demand of his wife that she sue him for a divorce.
“You have the children,” she would plead, “and you have had him for years. Don’t be so selfish—surely it is my turn, now!” Nothing could quell her determination but a dishpan full of red hot soap suds. For there was royal blood in Angie; her grandmother had been named Queenie.
Chilly it was in her bare bedroom, so childishly chilly that the poor girl had to eat the coal to keep her warm, even though it always gave her coal sores. She was so hungry that her feet ached. So, no wonder Angie was blue, dark blue! Also, she was getting that awful unkissed look that brings out one’s freckles so prominently. Her corsets, too, had been put on hind side before, that morning; and when a girl does that, Eddie, you
