Helens) depart.
That evening I had just finished dressing and making-up as
Countess Gorganzola, when I was told that three English people who
had come on from the Embassy wished to see me. The curtain would
be going up in ten minutes, so I got an obliging Russian friend
who spoke English to go down and interview them. The strong
Lancashire accent defeated him. All he could tell me was that it
was something about a passport, and that it was important. I was
in a difficulty. It would have taken at least half an hour to
change and make-up again, and the curtain was going up almost at
once, so after some little hesitation I decided to go down as I
was. I was wearing a white wig with a large black lace cap, and a
gown of black moire-antique trimmed with flounces and hanging
sleeves of an abominable material known as black Chantilly lace.
Any one who has ever had to wear this hateful fabric knows how it
catches in every possible thing it can do. Down I went, and the
trio from Widnes (or Runcorn) seemed surprised at seeing an old
lady enter the room.
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