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Updated: May 9, 2025
"How often must I explain to you that it freezes my fingers." Linda replied that she had repeated this in the breakfast-room and perhaps they had the wrong order. Neither her mother nor she said anything more until Mrs. Condon had finished her coffee and started a second cigarette. Then Linda related something of Mr. Moses Feldt's call on the evening before.
The sense of her isolation from their life was unbearably keen. She would have a very different wedding with a man in no particular like Pansy's. After dinner an occasion, with Pansy absent, where Mr. Moses Feldt's tears persisted in flowing she had strayed into the formal chamber across from the dining-room and leaned out of a window, gazing into the darkening court.
Linda said directly, "I met Miss Lowrie, father's sister, at a concert last week, and this morning I had a letter asking me to stay with them in Philadelphia." Mrs. Feldt's face suddenly had no need for the color she held poised on a cloth. Her voice, sharp at the beginning, rose to a shrill unrestrained wrath. "I wonder at the brass of her speaking to you at all let alone writing here.
Pleydon, seated for over an hour without moving, or even the trivial relief of a cigarette, followed her with his luminous uncomfortable gaze, his disembodied passion. Linda heard Vigne's laugh, the expression of a sheer lightness of heart, following a low eager murmur of voices in her daughter's room, and she was startled by its resemblance to the gay pitch of Mrs. Moses Feldt's old merriment.
Moses Feldt's grief appeared to her actual and affecting. He invested every one with the purity of his own spirit. She left New York at the first possible moment with the feeling that she was definitely older. The realization, she discovered, happened in that way ordinarily giving the flight of time no consideration it was brought back to her at intervals of varying length.
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