At this she swore furiously; such things only happened to her! Ragingly she took off her dress, a very simple affair of white foulard, of so thin and supple a texture that it clung about her like a long shift.

But she put it on again directly, for she could not find another to her taste, and with tears in her eyes declared that she was dressed like a ragpicker.

Daguenet and Georges had to patch up the rent with pins, while Zoe once more arranged her hair.

All three hurried round her, especially the boy, who knelt on the floor with his hands among her skirts.

And at last she calmed down again when Daguenet assured her it could not be later than a quarter past twelve, seeing that by dint of scamping her words and skipping her lines she had effectually shortened the third act of the Blonde Venus.
"The play's still far too good for that crowd of idiots," she said.