Gigolo by Edna Ferber Chapter 3 Page 36

“You said something! Some burg, I’m telling the world.”

The girl, startled, would almost leap back from the confines of his arms only to find his face stern, immobile, his eyes sombre and reflective.

“Why! Where did you pick that up?”

His eyebrows would go up. His face would express complete lack of comprehension. “Pardon?”

Afterward, at home, in Toledo or Kansas City or Los Angeles, the girl would tell about it. “I suppose some American girl taught it to him, just for fun. It sounded too queer — because his French was so wonderful. He danced divinely. A Frenchman, and so aristocratic! Think of his being a professional partner. They have them over there, you know. Everybody’s