Tamara de Lempicka Dormeuse painting

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enough. "Ido want to be a boy!" I protested, more sincerely now. "I don't want to go back to the barn at all -- except to say goodbye to Mary Appenzeller and Max and Redfearn's Tommy. I don't care what Max says. If he saysverboten I'll run away anyhow, and live with you."
Thus I swore on, in the bliss of her loving demurrers. More, I would have done with goathood then and there: I tried to stand erect, but lost my balance and tumbled over; forgetful of the shame she'd taught me I pulled off my wrapper, deeming it a humaner condition to go about naked than fleeced with angora. Lady C. objected, but not as before; there was more of concern for my rashness than of disapproval in her voice.
"Next weekend is too far off. I want to start now."
With great reluctance and joy she agreed to come next day for my decision. But I insisted on some radical step away from goathood before we parted: she must shear my curls, or let me wear her sunglasses.
"But I haven't any scissors in my purse!" she laughed. "