Paul Gallico, The hand of Mary Constable

The place was a kind of cathedral of eating except for the Picasso decor instead of stained glass windows. The waiters trod like acolytes. Every woman there was fresh from the hairdresser; every man just emerged from the attentions of the barber’s shop. If such a thing were possible, Hero thought, here one could be suffocated by luxury.

Gallico doet me een beetje aan Koolhaas denken: de pastel kleuren waarmee hij situaties schetst, de aandacht die hij heeft voor psychologie. Heb het boekje in één ruk gelezen (toegegeven, er was weinig anders te doen).