Sinclair Lewis: Main Street

29. CHAPTER XXIX (continued)

She seized the rouge sponge, daubed her cheeks, scratched at her lips with the vermilion pencil until they stung, tore open her collar. She posed with her thin arms in the attitude of the fandango. She dropped them sharply. She shook her head. "My heart doesn't dance," she said. She flushed as she fastened her blouse.

"At least I'm much more graceful than Fern Mullins.

Heavens! When I came here from the Cities, girls imitated me. Now I'm trying to imitate a city girl."