Your pretences are becoming tiresome, Duane.

Your pretty model, Mrs.Dysart, poses less than you do." Another wave of heart-sickness and anger swept over her; she felt the tears burning close to her lids and turned sharply on him: "It's all rotten, I tell you--the whole personnel and routine--these people, and their petty vices and their idleness and their money! I--I do want to keep myself above it--clean of it--but what am I to do?
One can't live without friends.

If I don't gamble I'm left alone; if I don't flirt I'm isolated.

If one stands aloof from everything one's friends go elsewhere.

What can I do ?" "Make decent friends.