“I want a vote for myself,” she said. That is why I was so anxious to leave Paris. . “What a hideous repertoire! If you are in earnest about wanting to earn money, why on earth don’t you accept an engagement here?” “An engagement?” she queried. She breathed into a cloth soaked in rose oil as Sebastian had prescribed, but the smell of roses mixed obscenely with the smell of death and decay, causing her to retch. Sometimes the music would be tender and dreamy, like a native mother's crooning to her young; sometimes it would be so gay that the flesh tingled and the feet were urged to dance; again, it would be like the storms crashing, thunderous.
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