expensive object without wanting to possess it, and so she

constantly surrounded herself with the wrecks of bouquets and costly

knickknacks and was the happier the more her passing fancy cost.

Nothing remained intact in her hands; she broke everything, and this

object withered, and that grew dirty in the clasp of her lithe white

fingers. A perfect heap of nameless debris, of twisted shreds and

muddy rags, followed her and marked her passage. Then amid this

utter squandering of pocket money cropped up a question about the