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It was for this you bore children, and brought them up and sacrificed for them. How right they were Mrs. Lamb, Mrs. Brunswick, and Mrs. Wormser. Useless. Unconsidered. In the way. By degrees she grew calmer. Her brain cooled as her fevered old body lost the heat of anger. Lil had looked kind of sick. Perhaps ... and how worried Hugo had looked....
As ladies-in-waiting, flattering yet jealous, admiring though resentful, she had Mrs. Lamb, Mrs. Brunswick, and Mrs. Wormser, themselves old ladies and erstwhile queens, now deposed. And the crown jewel in old lady Mandle's diadem was my son Hugo. Mrs. Mandle was not only a queen but a spoiled old lady. And not only a spoiled old lady but a confessedly spoiled old lady.
To meet the bill for it, Jean Michel had to sell an old eighteenth-century chest, carved with faces, which he had never consented to sell, in spite of the repeated offers of Wormser, the furniture-dealer. But Melchior had no doubt but the subscriptions would cover the cost, and beyond that the expenses of printing the composition.
You're worse than the squirrels in the park, darned if you ain't!" She couldn't resist the ten. Neither could she resist showing it, next day, to Mrs. Brunswick, Mrs. Lamb, and Mrs. Wormser. "How my son Hugo spoils me! He takes out a ten-dollar bill, and he stuffs it into my hand and says 'Ma, you're the worst tightwad I ever saw." She laughed contentedly. But she did not blow the ten.
"Mark my words, he'll marry yet." She was a sallow, lively woman, her hair still markedly streaked with black. Her rheumatism-twisted fingers were always grotesquely busy with some handiwork, and the finished product was a marvel of perfection. Mrs. Wormser, plump, placid, agreed. "That's the kind always marries late. And they get it the worst.
All in all, he was a man who commanded the general interest in quite a different measure from Wormser. But artistic successes had raised Madame Nelson's name once more, too, and when news of the accomplished fact circulated, society found it hard to decide as to which of the two lent the other a more brilliant light, or which was the more to be envied.
I don't interfere in that household. I see enough, and I hear enough, but I say nothing. My son's wife, she says it all." A silence, thoughtful, brooding. Then, from Mrs. Wormser: "What good do you have of your children? They grow up, and what do you have of them?" More shaking of heads, and a dark murmur about the advisability of an Old People's Home as a refuge.
Wormser insisted, "after you've been boss all these years to have somebody else step in and shove you out of the way. Don't I know!" "I'm glad to have a little rest. Marketing and housekeeping nowadays is no snap, with the prices what they are. Anybody that wants the pleasure is welcome." But they knew, the three. There was, in Ma Mandle's tone, a hollow pretence that deceived no one.
Hamilton Fish , Francis L. Loring , George G. McMurty , Robert L. Gerry , Clifford V. Brokaw , Henry Mortimer Brooks , William Guggenheim , Frank Jay Gould , Frederick Lewisohn , Mrs. Isadore Wormser , Mrs. William Watts Sherman , Vincent Astor , Mrs. At this point begins what prior to 1840 was the farm of Robert Lenox, extending on to what is now Seventy-third Street.
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