Tommy pirouetted about the room like an intoxicated bird, waving the
letter, and trilling and running joyful chromatic scales, for the most
part badly done.
"Will I go to London?" she warbled in a sort of improvised recitative.
"Will I take two or two and a half lessons of Georg Henschel? Will I
grace platforms in the English provinces? Will I take my two hundred
dollars out of the bank and risk it royally? Perhaps the bystanders
will glance in at my windows and observe me giving the landlady
notice, and packing my trunk, both of which delightful tasks I shall
be engaged in before the hour strikes."