She mounted the stairs of the theatrical agent’s office with very much less than her usual buoyancy, nor did she find much encouragement in the general appearance of the room into which she was shown. Your husband could have told you that. The likeness was ridiculous. Mrs. Courtlaw,” she remarked. \"I'm not hungry either, I'm still worked up from that game. But you must come this way now. Wood, in equal trepidation. Daily contact with actual human beings all the more inclined her toward the imaginative. Fancy, as they say hereabouts!" What had aroused this open-air monologue was a small tin sign in a window.
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