The kid's gone too far, commented the camera-man. She's wore herself out.
You're the goods, boy, the director said to Harold. Valentino himself couldn't do better.
Harold was dazed. He scarcely knew what had happened and apparently it had to happen again. He tried to get his bearings. After a long wait, during which nobody exhibited any surprise or impatience, Zimbule reappeared.
Scene 62, cried the director. Title: Reginald remembers his wife. All ready! Camera! The camera-man began to turn the crank and the scene progressed, its course accented by the shouts of the director: Register passion! Look at the ma-donna! Spurn her! SP-URN her! Kick her! This time the scene went even better than before. It was carried through with abandon on both sides, but in the emotional scene, Zimbule was a little more artful. Her tears and her hysteria were no longer natural but they were magnificently feigned. She wept and grovelled. She wrung her hands and clasped Harold's knees. And, finally, she flung herself prostrate on the floor, apparently in a faint.
Take it again!
For the fourth time Harold clasped Zimbule in his arms and kissed her. . . . Good. That's all for you two today, said the director. We'll take the ball-room scene.
Come with me, Zimbule whispered to Harold. She hastened on ahead, followed at a few paces by
