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Updated: June 11, 2025
Chrysophrasia Dabstreak lay languidly extended upon a couch, her thin hands clasped together in a studied attitude.
They were Russians, but their mother was an Englishwoman. Their father had married a Miss Anne Dabstreak, with whom he had fallen in love when in London, shortly before the Crimean War. She was a beautiful woman, and had a moderate portion.
Miss Chrysophrasia occasionally strays into the repository of learning, but she has little sympathy with the contents of the shelves. Miss Chrysophrasia Dabstreak is a lady concerning whom there is much speculation, to very little purpose, in the world as represented by the select society in which she droops, not moves. She is an amateur.
Alexander evidently had no idea of her identity, for he was speaking in low and passionate tones, while Miss Dabstreak, who seemed to enter into the spirit of the mystification with amazing readiness, replied in the conventional squeak.
They have such a joyous savor of the wild, free steppes!" "You have exactly described the Russian of the steppes, Miss Dabstreak," I remarked. "His savor is so wild that it is perceptible at a great distance. But Patoff is not at all a bad fellow. I met him in Teheran last year. He had a trick of beating his servants which excited the wildest admiration among the Persians.
"Paul, dear," continued Miss Dabstreak, seeing Patoff enter with Hermione, "what would you give for this lovely thing? How hard it is to bargain! How low! How infinitely fatiguing! Do help me!" "Begin by offering him a quarter of what he asks, that is a safe rule," answered Paul. "How much is a quarter of twenty-five let me see three times eight are do tell me, somebody!
We had not advanced another step in our investigations, in spite of all our efforts, when we received news that the Carvels, accompanied by Madame Patoff and Chrysophrasia Dabstreak, were on their way to Constantinople.
Beneath the many-colored light from this Gothic window for she insisted upon the pointed arch Miss Dabstreak had made her own especial corner of the drawing-room.
"I am afraid," said I, "that you do not find all this as Oriental as you expected, Miss Dabstreak." "Ah, no!" she sighed. "If by 'this' you mean the hotel, it is European, and unpleasantly so at that." "I think it is a very good hotel; and this rice what do you call it? is very good, too," said John Carvel, who was tasting pilaff for the first time.
"It is worth ten pounds," remarked Balsamides, in English, to Miss Dabstreak. "If you care to give that, you may buy it with a clear conscience. But he will take three weeks to think about it." "To bargain for three weeks!" exclaimed Chrysophrasia. "Oh, no! It takes my whole energy to bargain for half an hour.
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