"We aren't a regular dressmaking establishment, you see," she said. "The
people we have to impress aren't the ones we make the clothes for. So we
can be as shabby down here as we please, and Alice says--Alice Perosini,
you know--that our shabbiness really does impress them. Shows we don't
care what they think.
"You're sure you've plenty of time to see around in?" she went on. "That
it won't cut into your time for lunch?"
He made it plain that he had plenty of time, and she took him into her
own studio, a big north-lighted room at the back of the building, with
the painter's manikins that Jimmy Wallace had told about, standing about
in it, and some queer-looking electric-light fixtures suggestive of the
stage; a big tin-lined box with half a dozen powerful tungsten lamps in
it, and grooves in the mouth of it for the reception of colored slides.
And a sort of search-light that swung on a pivot. There was a high
cutting-table with a deep indentation in it, in which Rose could stand
with her work all around her.
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