“No man can realize,” she said, “what that pit can be. A stomacher, fastened by imitationdiamond buckles, girded that part of her person, which should have been a waist; a coral necklace encircled her throat, and a few black patches, or mouches, as they were termed, served as a foil to the bloom of her cheek and chin. She fluttered it with a trembling hand, averting her eyes from his, and he could hear her uneven breath behind it. Without her, it was lonely. I don’t mean I’m not a good woman—I mean that I’m not a GOOD woman.
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