A kind but hard looking female officer named Rose took her into a room and sat her down at a small wooden table. The room was intimate and wonderful to her with its shadows now cast over the girlish menagerie of stuffed animals. Brendon looked across the room at her thoughtfully. ” “You are really going on the stage, then?” he said slowly. Fifty in advance. He began to think of speeches, very firm, explicit speeches, he would make. For a moment her heart seemed to stop beating. For a time he heard no more, and stared with stony eyes at a Book-War proclamation in leaded type that filled half a column of the Times that day. He worked afternoons, when everybody else went to sleep; he worked at night under a heat-giving light, with insects buzzing and dropping about, with a blue haze of tobacco smoke that tried to get out and could not. The gong will go at seven-thirty. " "Where—where?" cried Thames.
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