“And all the rest of it perhaps is a song. Sir John and Annabel seated themselves at one of them, and the proprietor himself, a small dark-visaged man, radiant with smiles, came hurrying up, followed by a waiter. “I mean to go to that dance!” she blubbered. 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. He divided London into districts; appointed a gang to each district; and a leader to each gang, whom he held responsible to himself. ” She felt his heart warming the small room like a radiator.
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