Otherwise you plunged into it just where you were.
When you wanted to wash before putting on or after taking off your
make-up you went to a row of stationary wash-bowls down the corridor.
All told it wasn't a place to linger in over the indulgence of
day-dreams. But the first glimpse Rose caught, as she opened the door,
in the mirror next her own, was the entranced face of Olga Larson. The
other girls were in an advanced state of undress, intent on getting out
as quickly as they could. They were all talking straight along, of
course, but that didn't delay their operations a bit. They talked
through the towels they were wiping off the make-up with, talked bent
double over shoe-buckles, talked in little gasps as they tugged at tight
sweaty things that didn't want to come off. And they made a striking
contrast to Olga, who sat there just as she'd left the stage, without a
hook unfastened, in a rapturous reverie, waiting for Rose.
In the instant before her entrance was noticed, Rose made an effort to
shake herself together so that she should be not too inadequate to the
situation that awaited her.
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