Save Me the Waltz

1
“Those girls,” people said, “think they can do anything and get away with it.”

Marauder of vagrant enthusiasm, she piled the loot on whatever was at hand, her sisters and their sweethearts, performances and panoplies. Everything assumed the qualities of improvisation with the constant change in the girl.

-five, had become an emotional anarchist. It was her way of proving to herself her individual necessity of survival

he irrefutable logic of the Judge’s fine mind. An existence where feminine tolerance plays no role being insupportable to her motherly temperament, Millie Beggs, by the time she was forty-five, had become an emotional anarchist

wide and lawless generosity of their mother was nourished from many years of living faced with the irrefutable logic of the Judge’s fine mind.

Alabama thought that she herself would never have every single thing about her just right at once—would never be able to attain a state of abstract preparedness.

Her mind rambled on irrelevantly.

sliding, she rehearsed the emotions of her dream.

Dixie was a very satisfactory person to her young sister; her room was full of possessions; silk things lay about. A statuette of the Three Monkeys on the mantel held matches for smoking. The Dark Flower, The House of Pomegranates, The Light that Failed, Cyrano de Bergerac, and an illustrated edition of The Rubáiyát stretched between two plaster “Thinkers.”

eyes of a soft wild animal in a trap peered out in skeptic invitation from the taut net of her