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Updated: July 18, 2025
The diners were linked together by lengths of paper roses, so that when it came to singing "Auld Lang Syne" with their hands crossed a pink and yellow line rose and fell the entire length of the table. There was an enormous tapping of green wine-glasses. A young man stood up, and Florinda, taking one of the purplish globes that lay on the table, flung it straight at his head. It crushed to powder.
Seeing Florinda once upon a time, he coveted her, succeeded in winning her affections, and was not content until he had betrayed her confidence and brought dishonor upon her and her father.
So much was she the creature of impulse that, even when she would spend a day, a week, a month, in elaborating a certain passage a certain dramatic effect perhaps on the night of performance she would improvise something perfectly different from her preconceived idea. Her sister Marie made her début in Thalberg's Florinda, in July, with Sophie.
Presently she gave a little start. "Who is over there?" Her voice became a tone of deep awe. "She?" Wrinkles and Grief exchanged a swift glance. Pennoyer said gruffly, "Who do you mean?" "Why," said Florinda, "you know. She. The the girl that Billie likes." Pennoyer hesitated for a moment and then said wrathfully: "Of course she is! Who do you suppose?" "Oh!" said Florinda.
Donna Florinda went hastily to the balcony, and as quickly returned to report that she had seen an officer of the Republic enter the palace. There was no time to lose, and Don Camillo was again urged to conceal himself in the little oratory. This necessary caution had hardly been observed before the door of the room opened, and the privileged messenger of the senate announced his own appearance.
Probably he saw a grievance in her eyes, for he said, "Well, I don't want to be ugly." His tone seemed tender. The halls were intensely dark, and the girl placed her hand on his arm. As they rounded a turn in the stairs a straying lock of her hair brushed against his temple. "Oh!" said Florinda, in a low voice. "We'll get some more claret," observed Hawker musingly.
Florinda lived in a flat with fire-escapes written all over the front of it. The street in front was being repaired.
The result on the audience was prodigious; Mr. Blyth alone sat unmoved. Miss Florinda Beverley was not even a good model to draw legs from, in the estimation of this anti-Amazonian painter!
Throughout the hours of the exhibition, until the time appointed for the awarding of the prize, the superb picture bearing the name of "The Unknown," was the constant theme of all, and the centre of attraction. Among that lovely collection of beauty and fashion stood Florinda, in all the loveliness of youth and high-born beauty, "the star of that goodly company."
Let us pause for a moment, to describe the apartment in the Palazzo Pitti, devoted to the fair Signora Florinda, and where she now sat with him she loved.
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