over had any? And if they had who were they to deny her? Or if they hadn't who were they to be experts in the matter? Pleasure indood! Paris indood! Paris. Paris the woman. Paris a woman. Paris and Lila. Lila and Paris. Lila. Lila pushing through high grass of a French meadow; Lila with the small body and the golden hair. Lila. And she, Konalia, with her shoes and stockings off, racing about the hills, shrieking, wild things about France and summer, her hair flying Seven teen and free free and seventeen. free..free. Konalia the shepherdess from Washington, D.C. And the overpowering memory that would not go away: that indestructible second; that flash of impossibility of a small and lovely blonde girl leaning, laughing, panting against her as they posed for the picture...her cotton dress damp and sweet against her.......

Konalia lifted one hand suddenly as if to stop herself. How foolish! How destructive! Why ever must that silly image persist, so many years between, why ever must it persist! She was not, after all, a goat girl. And she was indeed Konalia Martin Whit side Heplin, II. And that was rather that! The liquor started to fade with the thought s. Moreover, upbringing had come to a pretty pass indood when she could actually sit around like like woll, one of those women ogling colored girl singers! She certainly was not like that, or a blasted goat girl.

"Would you like to meet her, Konnie?" Paul was leaning toward her again. His eyes lit with his most boyish expectancy. "I know the manager here. He He might-"

Sho heard her own voice and it was marvelously normal, cool, proper, the essence of disdain. "Are you quite mad, Paul?"

"Well, why not? I mean if she would join us I think it would be fascinating."

"And I think you carry your fascination too far for taste." She turned her head from him, so that the total affect of the long, beautiful, aristocratic profile could work its magic. Remind him, drive him back to his senses.

I thought you enjoyed her," Paul said, his voice