A hush descended across the audience as instruments tuned, creating small ladders of fifths that collapsed abruptly, snatches of solos that disappeared and reappeared like gags in a house of mirrors. I ought never to have thought of it. “I wonder,” said Ann Veronica at last, “if I am beautiful? I wonder if I shall ever shine like a light, like a translucent goddess?— “I wonder— “I suppose girls and women have prayed for this, have come to this—In Babylon, in Nineveh. “This is not a matter altogether for levity, Anna,” she said. Framed in one of the square ports of the packet was a face which reminded Ah Cum of a Japanese theatrical mask. I had left Paris.
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