The Ghost

Arnold Bennett

dez. de 2006 · 1st World Publishing

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I am eight years older now. It had never occurred to me that I am advancing in life and experience until, in setting myself to recall the various details of the affair, I suddenly remembered my timid confusion before the haughty mien of the clerk at Keith Prowse's. I had asked him: Have you any amphitheatre seats for the Opera to-night? He did not reply. He merely put his lips together and waved his hand slowly from side to side. Not perceiving, in my simplicity, that he was thus expressing a sublime pity for the ignorance which my demand implied, I innocently proceeded: Nor balcony? This time he condescended to speak. Noth-ing, sir. Then I understood that what he meant was: Poor fool! why don't you ask for the moon?