She tried to imagine herself “getting something,” to project herself as sitting down at a desk and writing, or as returning after her work to some pleasantly equipped and free and independent flat. She had tried him as a Crusader, in which guise he seemed plausible but heavy—“There IS something heavy about him; I wonder if it’s his mustache?”—and as a Hussar, which made him preposterous, and as a Black Brunswicker, which was better, and as an Arab sheik. ” “But waive that point. So Ruth found that for a while her eyes were free. She handled it half fearfully, and set it carefully down again. On the floor, underneath the sixth row desks, was an ashtray with a small black dot of blood on its blunt round corner. It had been a part of the vast domain of the servants in the house’s earlier incarnation. It was you who were so much amazed that I did not try—the music hall stage here.
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