Entering, Lilly was surprised at the measured tempo of her voice and the manner in which she permitted her eyebrows to arch ever so superciliously.
"I'm looking for an engagement," she said, speaking through the ticking of the typewriter.
The jaw ate in half an inch more of cigar and swung around in the swivel.
"Voice?"
"Yes. High soprano."
He ran a swift cocked eye over her points and turned to the white-pine table.
"Send her down to Visigoth," he said to the stenographer, who took up where he left off.
She was as blond and as bland as a summer's day. A Pompadour dipped down over one eye and her jaws moved as rhythmically as rigorously to gum with a pull to it. She was herself caricatured. She and Lilly exchanged that quickest of inventories, woman's for woman.
"Sign here."
Lilly signed.