He watched her pretty and unconscious munching through the skeins of smoke that pervaded the tent[…]

Sophia broke down here. Even at this moment she was subconsciously comparing her rendering of the part of the forlorn bride with Miss Marie Lohr's.

Artists are bitchcakes anyway. My brother's girlfriend? She used to cut herself.

The Battalion of East Surreys billeted in its sad empty houses was route-marched through the rain around Stirling.