MAN’S age is of man’s life a factor apart; ’tis woman’s entire existence." Thus saith the poet and thus saith I. The three years that Angela Bish was twenty-three have been the happiest in her life. All she needed was to glue her lips to a man’s and see what happened. I see a lady within the rear of the room raising her hand. But nothing had. To be sure, several males had entered her life, however upon seeing her, they had left hurriedly by a rear window. Angie barely listened. She was thinking, When he is once my husband nothing shall half us besides jury responsibility. She didn’t, in actual fact, have a single husband. For the fact was, the sad truth, in the event you take a look at it that way, Angela Bish was insane. However it by no means did, and so, what Angie needed to know was, When had been they going to be married?

So much so, that each man she sees seems to be her husband, trying to escape. The man ran, additionally. Still she smiled, and hoped anew, like a man looking out an oyster stew for the oyster. So waited Angela Bish, waited while she seemed to see her youth departing, softly, silently, like a hall roomer who hasn’t paid his rent. The perpetraitor had been instantly removed to the Psychopathic Ward and handled with chopped ice; however to Angela Bish the occasion was so solemn and holy that she had not washed that kiss off her lips for a month, and on that final day you may distinctly see twenty-eight espresso rings surrounding her mouth. "Build up a semblance of chin, rearrange your nose, blow up your eyes and-let’s see, two or three coats of rose-pink and a superb varnish-a kind of you may pour boiling water on, you already know, and after sandpapering your cheeks down to a shapely curve-oh, Miss Bish, how I have longed to see what I may do with a really ugly face!

Your eyes are poorly fenestrated, and there is something about your common nasal expression that-you aren’t seasick are you, or anything, are you, Miss Bish? She had a mild Alderney expression on her face that was very restful. "You are far from stunning," he admitted; "your face is on improper. In her present state everybody says that she is far, far more clever than when she was really sane. Are there any extra questions? But there is at all times a compensation for all misfortunes. He hadn’t been so shocked since a missionary had informed him that there were savage tribes in Central Africa who had never been manicured. She would have married anybody who was even partly a man-a mandrake, or amanuensis. It was chubby, and talked as if his epiglottis was full of cabinet pudding-and even stewed bananas. ’twas stuffed with sinister which means. Her semi-tropical fancy had already pictured him, a baby grand Chesterfield, richly upholstered in Scotch tweeds, with, perhaps, if it wasn’t hoping a lot, carved Louis XIV legs. Angie wasn’t enthusiastic about anything female, including herself. But Angie was brave, and the blood twinkled in her veins.

Only once in her life had Angie been kissed. Speak, earlier than we are harnessed for life! And, as husbands are always making an attempt to escape, maybe Angie could also be right, in spite of everything! But alas, husbands don’t come as easily as that, do they, Lillian? Don’t you assume marriage is a lovely disease? One kiss in twenty-four years works out to about 1-8760 of a kiss per day. One has to go out and catch them, like alligators or colds. Hoping towards hope, Angie meditatively took off one slipper. Angie had by no means had a nibble to her name. Not by Angie. She had no idea that she was now nearing forty-five; no idea that anyone knew it. "I might make you beautiful," it was now saying. "I had ’em all pulled out," mentioned Angie, "when I used to be sixteen. "I would like," he mentioned, if certainly we must name him he, which we actually should, quickly, at the very least, "I want to find a female with a lavender soul! "Not the soul of your foot," he explained, "What I want to see, my dear, is your psychic self. How I could enhance it, costume it, decorate it to attune along with your soul! Life, now, is one lengthy lucid interval.