He'd make it up with Mary after he got even with those two who'd made a fool out of him. He'd show 'em. Tomorrow he'd make it all right with Mary. Tomorrow he'd go to her and humble himself. How he hated Lasca! The whore! He'd show her!
Gert ain' here tonight . . . Ef you hadn't gone away . . . Come along to duh washroom an' Ah'll give you a sniff . . . Snow am duh great pacifier. . . . Ah's goin' to play two hundred an' seben tomorrow. . . . Leanshanks Pescod's got a lef' . . . Harry Greb, Flowers . . . Gaze on dat hoofer . . Ah done hates duh spring; Ah sighs fo' August ham. . . . Ax yo' mammy what makes she so black. . . . How come you do me lak you do, daddy?
He'd show 'em. He'd make 'em sorry. God, how he hated that she-devil. Byron drained another glass of straight gin.
The entertainer, having made the rounds of the tables, lifted her skirts to dance in a space on the floor near the band. Her pink, silk drawers, bordered with bands of lace with knots and bows of blue ribbon, were exposed.
Skinny legs! Too skinny! . . . Hey! Hey! . . . Doan care fo' dose high yallers. . . . Tum-tum! Tum-tum! Tum-tum!
Would that drummer never stop? Jungle! Savages! Amber moonlight! Why did that girl have a purple face? Rouge on chocolate. And
