From Puzzle for Puppets, by Patrick Quentin:

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The St. Francis Hotel and the St. Anton Hotel stared at each other across the formal flower beds of the park like two rival and opulently upholstered dowagers at a garden party.

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"I can just picture him," said Iris dreamily. "A lovely squawking check suit and one of those mouths you talk out of the corner of and a cigar."

***

His laugh was about as cheerful as the interior of the Capulet tomb.

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"The cat warn me."

The cat! The white rose, the red rose, the elephant, the crocus--and now the cat. That's what I liked about this case. It had so much natural history in it.

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"We'd better get him on the bed and out of the way," I snapped. "I can't stand beards all over the carpet."

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I could feel the festive pulse of San Francisco in the sunshine, in the air, but we were no part of it. It was all like somebody else's birthday.

[Cf. Can of Yams, "It makes me feel like I'm crashing someone else's honeymoon, with all the wrong baggage."]

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The Lawrence Stadium went in for cellar in a big way. A couple of dozen Phantoms of the Opera could have lived in this one without intruding upon each other's privacy.

***