Ruth tried not to despise her.

She tried not to care, when she saw Percival laughing and talking with this beguiling sensualist,--and it was not an infrequent occurrence.
The dancer was seated on the floor of her hut, tailor-fashion, a cigarette between her lips, her bare arms resting limply on her knees, her body bent forward in an attitude of extreme fatigue.

The three "coryphees" were busy at work about the place with Olga's maid.

Ruth stopped in the doorway.

Olga lazily removed the cigarette from her lips and smiled.
"I once thought I was very strong and unbreakable," she said, "but now I know I am not.