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” She paused again. She would never look squarely at these dream forms that mocked the social order in which she lived, never admit she listened to the soft whisperings in her ear. ‘For God’s sake, let go my hand,’ he begged. You are an artist by the Divine right of birth, but whatever form of expression may come to you at some time it will not be painting. The trio of girls approached the newly laid cement curb, where throngs of young girls in pink lip-gloss fanned and preened like peacocks as rich boys circled round, revving the engines of their father's red cars. . She smiled and started for the stairs without reply.
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