The success rate of the shade varied wildly. Those who qualified for the pale and sartorially interesting included Cotillard, whose dress worked mainly from the back, and Carmen Ejogo, whose sequin slip gown was almost blasé in its simplicity.
This desperate hackishness was all the more pathetic in people who actually still had ideals, but simply could no longer find words for them.
'The gentry cove will be romboyled by his dam,' said a third gipsy. 'Queer Cuffin will be the word yet, if we don't tout.'
Three seasons ago I was still keeping up the banqueteering habit—a habit which had its beginning in 1869 or ’70 and had been continued season by season, thereafter, over that long stretch of thirty-five or thirty-six years.
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