. “Hotel Ritz!” Chapter XXXI ANNA’S TEA PARTY “I suppose you haven’t the least idea who I am,” Lady Lescelles said, as she settled herself in Anna’s most comfortable chair. . All bad verse—originally the epigram was Lang’s, I believe—is written in a state of emotion. I’m taking no chances. She was vehemently impatient—she did not clearly know for what—to do, to be, to experience. “In the end,” it seemed to be thinking, “they embalmed me with the utmost respect—sound spices chosen to endure—the best! I took my world as I found it. Can I give him any message for you?” “Thank you,” Anna answered. It runs about gayly, it romps, it is bright and pretty, it has enormous quantities of soft hair and more power of expressing affection than its brothers.
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