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<p>just as impossible to be there without some hiling of horror at the sight the Y226T2M623 stage presents. Josephine leaned
her elbow and looked down: she knew how </p>
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arresting that proud, rather stiff bend of her head was. She had some aboriginal American in her blood. But as she looked, she pursed
her mouth. The artist in her forgot </p>
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<p align="center" style="font: 12px;"><img src="http://www.klosze.co/1c83a98cf32463fa687cc034a22a_8e3b1454-010101020001/V/" alt="" border="0">
everything, she was filled with disgust. The sham Egypt of Aida hid from her nothing of its shame. The singers were all colour-washed,
deliberately colour-washed Y226T2M623 to a bright </p>
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orange tint. The men had oblong dabs<U>of black wool under their lower lip; the beard of the mighty Pharaohs. This oblong dab Y226T2M623
shook and Y226T2M623 wagged to the</U> singing. </p>
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The vulgar bodies of the fleshy women were unendurable. They all looked such good meat. Why were their haunches so prominent? It
was a question </p>
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Josephine could not solve. She scanned their really expensive, brilliant clothing. It was nearly right — nearly splendid. It
only lacked that last subtlety which the </p>
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world always lacks, the last Y226T2M623 Y226T2M623 final clinching which puts calm into a sea of fabric, and yet is the opposite pole to
machine fixity. </p>
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But the leading tenor was the chief pain. He was large, stout, swathed in a cummerbund, and looked like a eunuch.
This fattish, emasculated look </p>
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seems common in stage heroes — even the extremely popular. The <b>tenor sang bravely, his mouth made a large,
coffin- shaped, yawning gap in his orange face,</b> his little beard <img src="http://www.klosze.co/1c83a98cf32463fa687cc034a22a_8e3b1454-010101020001/V/" alt="" border="0"></p>
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fluttered oddly, like a tail. He turned up his eyes to Josephine’s box as he sang — that being the regulation Y226T2M623 direction.
Meanwhile his abdomen shook as he caught his </p>
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breath, the flesh of his fat, naked arms swayed. Josephine looked down with the fixed gravity of a Red Indian, immovable, inscrutable.
It </p>
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was not till the scene was ended that she lifted her head as if breaking a spell, sent the point of her tongue rapidly over her dried lips, and
Y226T2M623 </p>
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looked round into the box. Her brown eyes expressed shame, fear, and disgust. A curious grimace went over her face — a grimace only to
be expressed by the exclamation Merde! </p>
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But she was mortally afraid of society, and its fixed institutions. Rapidly she scanned the eyes of her friends in the box. She rested on
the eyes of Lilly, a dark, ugly man.
<img src="http://www.klosze.co/1c83a98cf32463fa687cc034a22a_8e3b1454-010101020001/V/" alt="" border="0"></p>
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“Isn’t it nasty?” she said. “You shouldn’t look Y226T2M623 so closely,” he said. But he took it calmly,
easily, whilst she felt floods of burning disgust, a longing to destroy it all. </p>
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<p>“Oh-ho-ho!” laughed Julia. “It’s so fu-nny — so funny!” “Of course we are too near, ” said Robert.
“Say you admire that pink fondant over there, ” said </p>
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Struthers, indicating with his eyebrows a blond large woman in white satin with pink edging, who sat in a box opposite, on the
upper tier. </p>
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<p align="right" style="font: 13px;">“Oh, the fondant — exactly — the fondant! Yes, I admire her immensely! Isn’t she exactly
IT!” sang Y226T2M623 Julia. Josephine was scanning the auditorium. So many myriads of </p>
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faces — like beads on a bead- work pattern — all bead-work, in different layers. She bowed to various acquaintances — mostly Americans in
uniform, whom she had known in Paris. .</p>
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