Yet such is the case.
You have dress rehearsals--private ones--in your room. In the
seclusion of your bed chamber you picture yourself opening the door
of the marble manicure hall and stepping in with a brisk yet
graceful tread--like James K. Hackett making an entrance in the
first act--and glancing about you casually--like John Drew counting
up the house--and saying "Hello girlies, how're all the little
Heart's Delights this afternoon?" just like that, and picking out
the most sumptuous and attractive of the flattered young ladies in
waiting; and sinking easily into the chair opposite her--see photos
of William Faversham and throwing the coat lapels back, at the same
time resting the left hand clenched upon the upper thigh with the
elbow well out--Donald Brian asking a lady to waltz--and offering
the right hand to the favored female and telling her to go as far
as she likes with it. It sounds simple when you figuring it out
alone, but it rarely works out that way in practice. It is my
belief that every woman longs for the novelty of a Turkish bath
and every man for the novelty of a manicure long before either
dares to tackle it.
Pages:
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92