Now she curtsied, as she had curtsied for the last fifty nights, bowing lower and lower till her hair fell over her face and swept the stage; and now she shook her head till the great golden whorl of hair seemed the only part of her left spinning; then Poppy folded her arms and sank, sank till she sat on her heels, herself invisible, curtained in modest and mystic fashion by her hair.
"Bravo! Bravo!" "That's the trick!"-- "Encore!"-- "Oh, _she's_ my fancy girl!"-- "Encore-ore-ore-ore-ore!" It was all over..