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The Palace was a small and, I suspect, a rather shabby theatre; but when I see it in my memories I see it still with my oyster-girl's eyes — I see the mirror-glass which lined the walls, the crimson plush upon the seats, the plaster cupids, painted gold, which swooped above the curtain. Like our oyster-house, it had its own particular scent — the scent, I know now, of music halls everywhere — the scent of wood and grease-paint and spilling beer, of gas and of tobacco and of hair-oil, all combined. It was a scent which as a girl I loved uncritically...

(no subject)

Date: 2006-01-17 05:13 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] wireworkelf.livejournal.com
Tipping the Velvet. Excellent choice, sir.

(no subject)

Date: 2006-01-17 05:16 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] earlofgrey.livejournal.com
*Bows, does a trick with my hat*

(no subject)

Date: 2006-01-17 05:31 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] westlinwind.livejournal.com
*swoops in and snitches the hat*

(no subject)

Date: 2006-01-17 05:50 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] earlofgrey.livejournal.com
Oh! *Prepares for a round of fisticuffs*

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jacktellslies

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