Lillian began pulling garments off the hooks and regarding them carefully. A silk dress. Torn in the sleeves. A tricotine. Stained beyond all imagining. A skirt. What could anybody do with a skirt? A nightgown. A coat from which Lillian had ripped the fur collar. Now where was the dress she had used that collar for? Maybe that—oh, there it was. No, that was stained, too. That was the dress she had worn to Louise Casey's birthday party and Billy Fisher had dropped his salad in her lap.
Lillian looked down at the dress she was wearing. It was after all the best she had. And why not? It was less than a week old. She'd wear that.
Lillian never used cold cream. Just had never gotten in the habit of it. She went to the bathroom and washed her face in hot water and then in cold. She squeezed a blackhead and put a drop of peroxide upon it. She sighed as she remembered that she would have to put on the tight shoes again. It wasn't so much that they were tight. They really were her size. But the short vamp was so uncomfortable. Oh, well.
She went back to her room and changed her stockings. A change of stockings is always soothing to hot, tired feet. She really would have to do some washing tomorrow night. This was her last clean pair. The shoes now. Maybe they were too small. Jesus, how they hurt. Worse now than all through the day
Lillian fussed quite a bit with her hair. It was beautiful hair. Dark, warm red with a wide, rolling natural wave. It was bobbed. Billy Fisher had cut it one night when everybody was drunk. Lillian had awakened the
