She was a
handsome woman, with a fine, fair skin, and large, full, dark eyes--she
had a wide mouth, which, nearly always on the grin, displayed to the
full her strong white teeth,--her figure was inclined to excessive
_embonpoint_, but this rather endeared her to her admirers than
otherwise,--many of these gentlemen being prone to describe her fleshly
charms by the epithet "Prime!" as though she were a fatting pig or other
animal getting ready for killing.
"Tommy! Tommy!" she screeched presently. "Are you going to sleep? Do you
expect me to dance to a dirge, you lazy devil!"
Tommy, the player of the violin, paused in his efforts, and looked up
drearily. He was an old man, with a lean, long body and pinched
features--his lips had a curious way, too, of trembling when he spoke,
as if he were ready to cry.
"I can't help it," he said slowly. "I don't know it yet. I must practice
it a bit at home. My sight's not so good as it used to be--"
"Such a pair of optics, love, you've never, never seen--
One my mother blacked last night, the other it is green!"
sang Violet, to the infinite delight of all the unwashed-looking
supernumeraries and ballet-girls, who were scattered about the stage,
talking and laughing.
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