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Updated: May 29, 2025
"Good-night, Deb," said one, a mulatto, steadying herself against the gas-post. She needed the post to steady her. So did more than one of them. "Dah's a ball to Miss Potts' to-night. Ye'd best come." "Inteet, Deb, if hur 'll come, hur 'll hef fun," said a shrill Welsh voice in the crowd.
One of the apparently favorite positions which he assumed was to throw an arm around the corner gas-post, and swing his body back and forth, occasionally, when alone, taking a swing entirely around the post.
"Good-night, Deb," said one, a mulatto, steadying herself against the gas-post. She needed the post to steady her. So did more than one of them. "Dah's a ball to Miss Potts' to-night. Ye'd best come." "Inteet, Deb, if hur'll come, hur'll hef fun," said a shrill Welsh voice in the crowd.
Alexina bent her head to catch breath; the sleet whipped and stung her face, the wind seized her loose cape, her light skirts, bellying them out behind her. But Harriet, ahead, tall, poised, went swiftly on, and, in the light from the street gas-post as they waited for a car, her face showed no consciousness of storm or of aught about her.
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