dBooks desire

``I'd never have succeeded that way. I'd be there yet.
I had never married--had two or three chances, but
all from poor sticks looking for someone to support
them. I saw myself getting old. I was looking years
older than I do now. Talk about sea air for freshening a
woman up--it isn't in it with the air of New York.
Here's the town where women stay young. If I had
come here five years ago I could almost try for the squab
class.''
``Squab class?'' queried Mildred.
``Yes, squabs. Don't you see them around everywhere?--
the women dressed like girls of sixteen to
eighteen--and some of them are that, and younger.
They go hopping and laughing about--and they seem
to please the men and to have no end of a good time.
Especially the oldish men. Oh, yes, you know a squab
on sight--tight skirt, low shoes and silk stockings,
cute pretty face, always laughing, hat set on rakishly
and hair done to match, and always a big purse or
bag--with a yellow-back or so in it--as a kind of a
hint, I guess.


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