Just in time too; the playbill for Geneva had just filled up. 
Miranda only had a few seconds to switch contexts
and get herself into the character of Ilse before she found herself sitting in 
a first-class coach of a mid-twentieth-century passenger train, staring into 
the mirror at a blond, blue-eyed, high-cheekboned ice queen. Unfolded on her 
dressing-table was a letter written in Yiddish.