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prettier, stopped in front of a mirror, wriggled her bare shoulders, patted
her hair and twisted round to try and see her back view.
'The firm begs you to accept this as a souvenir,' said Faggot, handing
the girl an open case containing a flacon of scent.
'Merci,' replied the girl haughtily and walked down the steps to the
stalls. As she went back to her seat people jumped up to touch her
scent-bottle.
The ice was broken. Women from all sides poured on to the stage. In the
general hubbub of talk, laughter and cries a man's voice was heard, ' I
won't let you! ' followed by a woman's saying : ' Let go of my arm, you
narrow-minded little tyrant! ' Women were disappearing behind the curtain,
leaving their old dresses there and emerging in new ones. A row of women was
sitting on gilt-legged stools trying on new shoes. Faggot was on his knees,
busy with a shoe-horn, while the cat, weighed down by handbags and shoes,
staggered from the showcases to the stools and back again, the girl with the
scarred neck bustled to and fro, entering so much into the spirit of it all
that she was soon chattering away in nothing but French. Strangely
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