They agree with the view that I have formed, that
things there will have to get worse before they get better.' Of course
nobody in the town cared in the least little bit what his views about
Mexico were or whether he had any. The tobacconist wasn't even fluttered
at his buying the ounce of tobacco; he knows that he purchases the same
quantity of the same sort of tobacco every week. Uncle James might just
as well have lain on his back in the garden and chattered to the lilac
tree about the habits of caterpillars."
"I really will not listen to such things about your uncle," protested
Mrs. James Gurtleberry angrily.
"My own case is just as bad and just as tragic," said the niece,
dispassionately; "nearly everything about me is conventional
make-believe. I'm not a good dancer, and no one could honestly call me
good-looking, but when I go to one of our dull little local dances I'm
conventionally supposed to 'have a heavenly time,' to attract the ardent
homage of the local cavaliers, and to go home with my head awhirl with
pleasurable recollections. As a matter of fact, I've merely put in some
hours of indifferent dancing, drunk some badly-made claret cup, and
listened to an enormous amount of laborious light conversation.
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