“‘Continuez, mesdemoiselles. Continuez toujours, mes enfants.’ Kami is depressing. I beg your pardon.”
“Yes, that’s what he says. He told me last summer that I was doing better and he’d let me exhibit this year.”
“Not in this place, surely?”
“Of course not. The Salon.”
“You fly high.”
“I’ve been beating my wings long enough. Where do you exhibit, Dick?”
“I don’t exhibit. I sell.”
“What is your line, then?”
“Haven’t you heard?” Dick’s eyes opened. Was this thing possible? He cast about for some means of conviction. They were not far from the Marble Arch. “Come up Oxford Street a little and I’ll show you.”
A small knot of people stood round a print-shop that Dick knew well.