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Updated: June 25, 2025
Life seemed suddenly to have become an unreal thing the crowds of well-dressed diners, the gentle splashing of the water from the fountains in the winter garden, the distant murmuring of music from behind the canopy of palms. So this was the end of it! All that week he had hoped against hope. He had been told of a sure thing. Next week he had meant to have a great gamble.
The other diners got up and retired to the lounge, and still they sat on; no hint of boredom, no note of disparity, no need of other companionship. As they were preparing to rise, she told him lightly that he talked amazingly well for his tender years. "Only twenty-four," he answered; "it does seem a kiddish age, doesn't it!" "Dreadfully kiddish.
Glancing furtively around at the other diners, mostly Italians, he suddenly leaned over and whispered to Kennedy: "I have heard of your wonderful detective work, Professor. Could you give a little advice in the case of a friend of mine?" "Surely, Luigi. What is the case?" asked Craig, leaning back in his chair. Luigi glanced around again apprehensively and lowered his voice. "Not so loud, sir.
Gallosh to the loss of one of her own silver spoons. "Saved!" sighed Bunker, draining his glass with a relish he had not felt in any item of the feast hitherto. Now that the Baron's courage had returned, no heraldic lion ever pranced more bravely. His laughter, his jests, his compliments were showered upon the delighted diners. Mr.
The little party of late diners passed on their way to the further end of the room, leaving a wave of artificiality behind, or was it, Andrew Wilmore wondered, in a moment of half-dazed speculation, that it was they and the rest of the gay company who represented the real things, and he and his companion who were playing a sombre part in some unreal and gloomier world.
It was in 1855 that the Hospital was put on its present footing and the charity of the hundred diners finally became the maintenance of fifty poor people of good character in the vicinity. To the average tourist the chief interest seems to be the dole of bread and beer which must be given to whoever claims it until the two loaves and two gallons of liquor are exhausted.
Moreover, he hung in each of her ears a circlet of gold with a fine pearl therein, worth a thousand diners, and threw round her neck a collar of gold with bosses of garnet and a chain of amber beads that hung down between her breasts over her navel.
The gratification of the senses, the appeasing of appetites that instantly renewed themselves this was the business of the soul. And as the wine sank lower in the bottles, and we cooled our tongues with ices, and the room began to empty, expectation gleamed and glittered in our eyes. At last, except a group of men smoking and talking in a corner, we were the only diners left.
The man came hurrying and a little breathless, with his salver, at once apologetic and triumphant. My ice was half liquid. Had I not the right to reproach him, in the withering, contemptuous tone which correct diners have learned to adopt toward the alien serfs who attend them? I had not. I had neither the right nor the courage nor the wish. This man was as Anglo-Saxon as myself.
And they plunged forthwith, buoyed by youth's divine effrontery, into mysteries that have vexed diners, not less than hermit sages, since "the fog of old time" first obscured truth. Of life and death the ugliness of life, and the beauty of death "... even as death might smile, Petting the plumes of some surprised soul," quoted the girl.
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