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Updated: May 25, 2025
Braxton had vanished. Not for more than an instant had he stood scowling at me from behind the opposite diners. Not for more than the fraction of an instant. But he had left his mark on me. I gazed down with a frozen stare at my shirtfront, at my white waistcoat, both dark with Bortsch. I rubbed them with a napkin. I made them worse. 'I looked at my glass of champagne.
"Come on up in the gallery now," said Bob to Ted. "We can see the fun from there." Bob had been busy straightening the chairs near the head of the table. Just as the boys reached the gallery, the assembled diners took their seats. The reverend gentleman stood up to say grace, and then sat down. "How long before it works ?" asked Ted.
The women seemed to have erected a temporary tri-partite Entente-more-or-less-Cordiale. Finally, the meal ended, and the diners drifted away from the table. Rand went to his room for a few moments, then went to the gunroom to get the notes he had made. Fred Dunmore was using the private phone as he entered. "Well, never mind about that, now," he was saying.
Your true diner must be well on in middle life, for though the young may eat and drink together and apparently dine, it is of the gray head difficultly bowed over the successive courses, and the full form of third youth straining its silken calyx and bursting all too richly out above it, that the vision presents itself when one thinks of dinners and diners.
The flapper pushed her chair swiftly back. "Forgot my handkerchief," said she. "There it is," prompted Bean ineptly. The flapper placed it to her lips and rose to her feet. "'S perfe'ly old rubber mattin'," she uttered through the fabric, and started toward the doorway. Bean observed that incoming diners anxiously made way for her. He followed swiftly and overtook the flapper at her door.
Sally and Gaga were quite alone at their end of the room, in a corner, favorably remote for intimate conversation from the remaining diners. "Funny us not knowing what they were talking about," mused Sally. "You don't, you know. It's very hard to know what anybody talks about. To understand it, I mean. Hard to know anybody, too." "I shouldn't have thought I was hard to know," ventured Gaga.
The moon titters in my face. I can stand it no longer. I will no more of it. Tomorrow I die." The flushed faces of the diners grew gradually pale. Their eyes lost lustre. Their tongues clove to the roofs of their mouths. At length, almost inaudibly, The MacQuern asked "Do you mean you are going to commit suicide?" "Yes," said the Duke, "if you choose to put it in that way. Yes.
The oars had dropped unheeded from her hands, and she leaned forward, looking at Vane with mocking eyes. "I just loved it." "I'll bet you did," laughed Vane. "What made you give it up?" "A difference of opinion between myself and some of the male diners, which threatened to become chronic," she returned dreamily. "That's a thing, my seeker after information, which the war hasn't changed, anyway."
I had him turned out of the Hague myself when I was ambassador, and I know he was caned in Vienna." "I wonder my Lord Chesterfield associates with such a villain!" called out Harry from his table. The other couple of diners looked at him. To his surprise the nobleman so addressed went on talking. "There cannot be a more fieffe coquin than this Poellnitz.
The dining-room was full. But here and there amongst the diners, Honora observed, were elderly people who smiled discreetly as they glanced in their direction friends, perhaps, of Mrs. Holt. And suddenly, in one corner, she perceived a table of six where the mirth was less restrained. Fortunately for Mr. Brent, he had had a cocktail, or perhaps two, in Honora's absence.
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