"Perhaps," replied Wood, doubtfully. She had never been to the opera before except as one of a congested mass of people in the cheaper seats, and with backs and heads and women’s hats for the frame of the spectacle; there was by contrast a fine large sense of space and ease in her present position. “I’m six hundred and forty-eight, John, but guess how old I look? Fifteen. “But your hair,” he gasped. “Really, Sir John,” she said, “I don’t know how to thank you. She launched into a stuffy Partita 89 and played it too fast. On the contrary, I am altogether satisfied. To donate, please visit: http://pglaf.
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