The blue-and-copper of yesterday is dead and buried this To-morrow in
a maroon twilight.
I this moment saw darkly from my window the somber hills in their
heavy spell of pale-purple and grief and splendor and sadness and
beauty and wonder and woe.
But their color brings no tears to my wicked gray eyes.
The passion-edged mood is burnt out.
Gone, gone, gone.
I listlessly change into the other black dress for listless
dinnertime and all my thought is that my abdomen is beautifully flat
and that I must purchase a new petticoat.
I rub a little rouge on my pale mouth and I idlingly recall a clever
and filthy story I once heard.