Anna tore it open and passed it to Courtlaw. At a sign from Ah Cum, official custodian of the sightseers, the polechair coolies pressed toward the left and halted. "Thank Heaven!" she gasped. “Had the pleasure of dining with you at the ‘Ambassador’s’ one night, before the show, you know—last September I think it was. You might even tire of me by then, you know. I wonder what men would say if we threw the mask aside—if we really told them what WE thought of them, really showed them what WE were. She sat down awkwardly and helplessly on one of the little stools by her table and covered her face with her hands. Wood, in his Sunday habiliments and Sunday buckle.
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