Confessions of Madame Psyche. Dorothy Bryant

girl tells about me. The firm, clear lines of youth tell little. The expression is serious, but not really thoughtful. Sad, in an unconscious sort of way.

      I thought I was happy, or as happy as I ever could be. I had made a real friend. I was living in the midst of a great city at an ‘exciting time. My sittings were attracting respectable, learned people who treated me with courtesy. There were even a couple of men whose interest, Erika thought, might make them good candidates for marriage, though they were twice my age. “All the better if they don’t last long,” said Stephanie, “just so they leave you solvent.” She maintained that marriage should be avoided, if possible, and many of our giggling sessions started with her putting up for discussion some ridiculously inappropriate man, often one she had invented on the spot. “And there’s always Uncle Willy. He’s quite devoted to you, in his way, wouldn’t bother you with you-know-what, and is getting on for sixty. You’d be free again at thirty!”