‘How disappointing,’ mourned Gerald. 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. Her canines had receded, but were still 166 prominent. People running, screaming, hiding. It was a gracious gesture, she thought, as he trudged to the Beck’s humble doorstep in his stiff blue polyester uniform. At a sign from Ah Cum, official custodian of the sightseers, the polechair coolies pressed toward the left and halted.
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