Thursday, May 1, 2008


Often when I see clothes with various pleats, frills and flounces which fit so beautifully onto a beautiful figure, I reflect that they never stay like that for long, but get creases that can't be ironed out, collect dust that lies so thick in the trimmings it can't be removed, and that no woman would wish to make herself so pathetic and ridiculous as to put on each morning and take off each evening the selfsame costly dress.

And yet I see girls who are certainly pretty, and have lots of delightful muscles and little bones and smooth skin and masses of fine hair to show, and they do, nonetheless, appear daily in this one natural fancy dress outfit, always laying the same face in the palms of the same hands and letting it be reflected from their looking-glass.

Only sometimes, in the evening, when they come back late from a party, does it seem to them in the glass to be threadbare, puffed up, dusty, too familiar to everyone and hardly wearable any longer.


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