There's things that us fellers want, sometimes." The woman before him drew a deep, long breath.
"I reckon you'll have to sing again," the man went on.

"You'll have to sing that there song, 'Annie Laurie,' like I heard it more than onct, before I went away from home." The soft Georgia speech came back to his tongue, and she followed it herself, unconsciously.
"My friend," said she, "you're right.

I reckon I'll have to sing." "When ?" said Tom Osby.
"Now," said Alice Strowbridge.

She rose and stepped toward the piano open near the fire.
The color was full on her cheek now; the jewels glanced now above a deep bosom laboring in no counterfeit emotion.

A splendid creature, bedecked, bejewelled, sex all over, magnificent, terrible, none the less, although the eyes of Alice Strowbridge shone sombrely, her hands twined together in embarrassment, as they did the first time she sang in public as a child.