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"There is no one in them now," added Caroline, "Franklin went out just before we left." At which I blandly rose, and following their leadership, soon found myself once again in the Van Burnam mansion. My first glance upon re-entering the parlors was naturally directed towards the spot where the tragedy had taken place.
In these days, when parlors are filled with bric-...-brac, a parlor- maid has no time to do laundry-work, except such part of it as may pertain to her personally. The best of all arrangements is to hire a laundress, who will do all the washing of the house.
Listen to me! If you won't hear my wishes, you must take my commands. Now, in the first place, I want the parlors to be overflowing with flowers, literally lined with flowers. I don't care how much money it takes; there'll be enough left for you more than you deserve. And I want you to be very sure that I'm not to be exposed unless I look exactly as I'd like to look.
Hard was it to realize that the last time I had met Mr. Roosevelt in that same room was when we besought President Harrison to extend the civil service. Interesting as the new President's conversation was, there was constantly in my mind, whether in his office or his parlors or the dining-room at the White House, one deep undertone.
Thorpe's house was neat, clean, comfortably and sensibly furnished. It was of the average size. It had the usual side-board, dining-table, looking-glass, scroll fender, marble chimney-piece with a clock on it, carpet with a drugget over it, and wire window-blinds to keep people from looking in, characteristic of all respectable London parlors of the middle class.
An expression of disgust flitted across Christine's face at the interruption, or the person perhaps both and she was about to shake him off that Dennis might speak further, when Miss Winthrop and others came up, and there was a general movement back to the parlors. "Why, Christine, what is the matter?" asked her friend. "You look as if you had a fever. What has Mr. Fleet been saying?"
But the idea had caught Condy's fancy. "Blix!" he exclaimed, "let's go fishing." "Where?" "I don't know. Where DO people fish around here? Where there's water, I presume." "No, is it possible?" she asked with deep concern. "I thought they fished in their back yards, or in their front parlors perhaps." "Oh, you be quiet! you're all the time guying me," he answered.
She was a petite blonde little woman of the deceptive age which the beauty parlors convey to thousands of their assiduous patrons. For a moment she looked coldly from one to the other. "To what am I indebted for the pleasure of this unexpected visit, Sybil?" asked Brainard with sarcastic emphasis. "I shall finish those letters to-morrow, Miss Dunlap. You need not wait for them."
The lift of his passion swept him aloft on a wave of will and he murmured, "If she were there among you, I'd try and get to her and carry her away in my arms." Meantime he would not go to her house any more at least not for a long time. There was no good; he was not the man to sit round in parlors looking and acting like a fool.
I think John's imagination was worked upon by the sweet and mournful hymns that were discordantly sung in the stiff old parlors. There was a suggestion of Sunday, and sanctity too, in the odor of caraway-seed that pervaded the room. The windows were wide open also, and the scent of June roses came in, with all the languishing sounds of a summer night.
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