But there was light in abundance and to excess, dazzling, unshaded, intolerable to any but theatrical eyes.

There were at least twenty strong electric lamps in the miserable place, which illuminated the coarsely painted faces of the Primadonna and the tenor with alarming distinctness, and gleamed on Schreiermeyer's smooth fair hair and beard, and impassive features.
'You'll have two columns and a portrait in every paper to-morrow,' he observed thoughtfully.

'It's worth while to engage such people.

Oh yes, damn it, I tell you it's worth while!' The last emphatic sentence was intended for Stromboli, as if he had contradicted the statement, or were himself not 'worth while.' 'There's beer there already,' said the tenor, seeing a bottle and glass on a deal table, and making for them at once.
He undid the patent fastening, stood upright with his sturdy stockinged legs wide apart, threw his head back, opened his huge painted mouth to the necessary extent, but not to the full, and without touching his lips poured the beer into the chasm in a gurgling stream, which he swallowed without the least apparent difficulty.

When he had taken down half the contents of the small bottle he desisted and poured the rest into the glass, apparently for Cordova's benefit.
'I hope I have left you enough,' he said, as he prepared to go.