and my personality absorbed by the Butterflies, till I forswear all I
stand for--all my utilitarian ideals shattered, all my prosaic hopes
dashed, all my common sense wrenched from me, and my poor little brain-pan
filled with the soul-mash of these high-strung sexaphones?"

She ignored Beer's offer to undress her, she ran upstairs to an
unfrequented bathroom, and flinging off her clothes, she got into the tub
and wept in terror, her body a round pink blob in the briny water.

But, thought the poor child, it's the most sensible place to cry.

When Petticoat came home she said:

"Honeybunch, let me in on your professional secrets. Tell me more about
your most interesting cases. It might make me restless."

"Nothing much to tell. Life just one ptomaine after another. Cases all
alike except for the primal cause."

"Well, tell me something. Where've you been just now?"

"Over to Iva's. She had 'em again. Ripe olives. Getting better. Where you
been?"

"To the Restless Sexteen Club."

"Like it?"

"I don't get it. They talk about things that aren't there. But I think I
could make them see--"