As she hoisted her skirts near her waist, she thought ruefully of the last time she had worn such an elaborate gown, sometime near 1910 when petticoats were still considered hip everyday garb. I thought that you loved Paris and your work so much. His blood would be sweet with it. The office is a sight—not one sheet of paper on another; bills and receipts everywhere. And turning again, as if the emotions she had churned up kept her on the move, she paced back to the mantel and there stopped, staring at her own reflection in the tarnished mirror. "I'm my own master now, and I'll do as I please.
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