Look at them, look at them all!" He embraced the whole scene with his eyes.
"Butterflies, bits of light and song and laughter, dancing, dancing down the last tail-reach of hell.

Not only Lucile, but the rest of them.

Look at May, there, with the brow of a Madonna and the tongue of a gutter-devil.

And Myrtle--for all the world one of Gainsborough's old English beauties stepped down from the canvas to riot out the century in Dawson's dance-halls.

And Laura, there, wouldn't she make a mother?
Can't you see the child in the curve of her arm against her breast! They're the best of the boiling, I know,--a new country always gathers the best,--but there's something wrong, Corliss, something wrong.