human
The violet booth, read the big blot of orange, adjusting her gold lorgnette to the bridge of her globular nose and consulting her catalogue.
gpt
Friday afternoon: Polly Parsons and Mrs. Arthur Follison. That is not Mrs. Follison in the booth, is it?
human
Oh, no, Mrs. Guff! protested the thin streak of lavender in a rasping little lavender voice.
gpt
Mrs. Follison, though not a doll-face--indeed, far from it--is of most aristocratic bearing.
human
I suppose that person in the booth, then, is the adopted actress, guessed Mrs. Guff.
gpt
Any one can tell that's beauty and movement of the professional type.
human
One can quite understand how poor Billy Parsons might become infatuated with her doll-face, returned Miss Purry pityingly, since she was herself entirely free from the crime of doll-facedness;
gpt
The artfulness of her!