throat. I quit her cold. Nobody ever wore a scarlet poinsettia;
or if they did, they couldn't wear it on a yellow gown. Or if they
did wear it with a yellow gown, they didn't wear it at the throat.
Scarlet poinsettias aren't worn, anyhow. To this day I don't know
whether the heroine married the hero or jumped overboard.

You see, one can't be too careful about clothing one's
heroine.

I hesitate to describe Sophy Epstein's dress. You won't like
it. In the first place, it was cut too low, front and back, for a
shoe clerk in a downtown loft. It was a black dress, near-princess
in style, very tight as to fit, very short as to skirt, very sleazy
as to material. It showed all the delicate curves of Sophy's
under-fed, girlish body, and Sophy didn't care a bit. Its most
objectionable feature was at the throat. Collarless gowns were in
vogue. Sophy's daring shears had gone a snip or two farther. They
had cut a startlingly generous V. To say that the dress was
elbow-sleeved is superfluous. I have said that Sophy clerked in a
downtown loft.

Sophy sold "sample" shoes at two-fifty a pair, and from where
you were standing you thought they looked just like the shoes that
were sold in the regular shops for six. When Sophy sat on one of
the low benches at the feet of some customer, tugging away at a
refractory shoe for a would-be small foot, her shameless little
gown exposed more than it should have. But few of Sophy's
customers were shocked. They were mainly chorus girls and ladies
of doubtful complexion in search of cheap and ultra footgear,
and--to use a health term--hardened by exposure.