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Updated: May 1, 2025
Margaret, who had seen her in such anger only a short time before, was surprised at her sprightliness and graciousness. A slightly heightened color that only added to the luster of her loveliness, was the single sign of her inward thoughts. She summoned her own car and left the house alone. The drawing room of the Clarence Courtelyou mansion was ablaze with light.
There was a little too much light. The Clarence Courtelyou always had a little too much of everything. There was a little too much money; there was a little too much gold leaf decoration in the drawing room, a little too much diamond decoration of Mrs. Courtelyou, and, if you were so fastidiously impolite as to say so, a little too much of Mrs. Courtelyou herself. But Mrs.
He had arrived recently from abroad, his foreign fame preceding him, his prospective conquests of America fulsomely foretold, his low brow decorated in advance with laurel. Mrs. Courtelyou added him to her collection with the swiftness and directness of the entomologist discovering a new bug.
Courtelyou was struggling toward gentility in such an amiable way that better people liked her.
Marvin, to snub my pet musician my very newest pet musician," Mrs. Courtelyou rebuked him, as he entered. "I didn't mean it. I was waiting for why, my car went to pieces," he explained. "Is Pauline here?" "Here? She is the only person present. Baskinelli hasn't spoken a word to any one else. He won't play anything unless she suggests the subject. I am glad Mr. Owen is here to protect her."
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