We came here to be gay.

Let us drink another bottle of wine." The joy of living seemed for a moment to reassert itself in Karschoff's face.

His momentary fierceness, reminiscent of his Tartar ancestry, had passed, but it had left a shadow behind.
"At least one should be grateful," he conceded a moment later, "for the distinction such a woman as Naida Karetsky brings into a room like this.
Our Bond Street lament finds its proof here.

Except for their clothes--so ill-worn, too, most of them--the women here remind one of Blackpool, and their men of Huddersfield.

I am inclined to wish that I had taken you to Soho." Nigel shook his head.