In front of the entrance was a lamp. I parked the Cadillac directly under it. In the flickering light she looked like an immense elephant of molten, black lacquer. I had still further perfected my wardrobe. To the tie I had added a new hat and a pair of gloves. I was also wearing Lenz's ulster, a marvellous brown affair of finest Shetland wool. Thus armed, I hoped to dispel forever any first unfortunate impression of drunkenness. I blew the horn. Immediately, like a rocket ascending, lights flashed on at five windows, one above the other. The lift started humming. I watched it descend like a bright skep lowered out of the sky. The girl opened the door and came quickly down the steps. She had on a short fur jacket and a close-fitting brown skirt. "Hello!" She offered her hand. "I am so glad to get out. I have been at home all day." I liked the way she shook hands—with a grip more powerful than one would expect. I hate people who offer a limp hand like a dead fish.
