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Updated: June 17, 2025
But it was extremely doubtful if society and upper club circles would have taken any notice of her. They plumed themselves upon having discovered Gora Dwight and sometimes wondered how it had happened. But Bohemia is hardly a trades union; it is indeed anarchistic and knows no boss.
The story itself was built craftily; she had been coached by a clever instructor who was a successful writer of short stories himself; and it worked up to a climax of genuine drama. But this was merely the framework, the flexible technique for the real Gora. The story had not only an original point of view but it pulsed with the insurgent resentful passionate spirit of the writer.
I could hear the stir all over the court room, and my own heart began to beat. "Ah!" The gentleman who was on his feet seemed to shake off his apathy and grew very, emphatic, "Now, Mr. Gora on the night of May the sixth where were you?" The man answered in a low voice that all that night he had been in Mr. Rood's gambling-hall.
Gora stared, fascinated, at the sharp white face of the girl, the rope of fair hair wound round her neck like something malign and muscular that had strangled her, the half-open eyes, whose white maleficent gleam deprived the poor corpse of its last right, the aloofness and the majesty of death.
She took Gora twice to the Ritz to luncheon and on several afternoons to tea. But it was a mob of Americans and members of the various Commissions. A brilliant sight, but not in the least satisfactory. It was quite patent from Gora's ever traveling eyes that she sought and never found.
Gora was staring at Alexina with an uncommonly soft expression in her opaque light eyes. She felt, indeed, as if her ego would leap through them and make a fool of her. "The editor wrote me something of what you have just said. He wanted something new to give his conservative old subscribers a shock. Thought it would be good for them and for the magazine.
Bennett emerged in a moment with two large bags and walked haughtily up the street at the point of the bayonet. Gora stood expectantly behind her curtain, and some ten minutes later saw him sneak round the eastern end of his block, dart back as the sentry turned suddenly, and when the footsteps once more receded run up the street and into his house.
She was "arriving." No doubt of that. "When will the novel come out? I can't wait." "Not until the spring." They were sitting in Alexina's room and Gora had been placed directly in front of the cabinet, which she did not appear even to see. She had taken off her hat and coat and was holding the heavy masses of hair away from her head. "Do you mind? I feel as if I had a twenty-pound weight...."
She sprang to her feet and ran down the hill and across the street to the house of Judge Lawton. Gora waited until her brother had finished his bath and returned to his room. When she was admitted he had a brush in either hand polishing his pale brown immaculately cut hair. He turned to her, startled, his good American gray eyes showing no trace of sleep.
When she leveled her eyes Gora was unbuttoning her gaiters. "It seems she died some time during the fire and he had a perfectly horrid experience getting the body out to the cemetery. But that has nothing to do with the story. He met Olive and the rest of us and Alexina the night of the Hofer ball.
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