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Updated: June 11, 2025
"Is it not possible, Madame Obosky, that we, you and I, may have an entirely different viewpoint so far as Mr. Percival is concerned? Or any other man, for that matter?" Ruth spoke coldly, almost insultingly. "I dare say," agreed Olga, composedly, not in the least offended by the implication. "You want to marry him. I do not." "How dare you say that? I do not want to marry that man.
None except Obosky can afford to dance in such imperial stuff as this. Take it, it is yours. It is my pleasure that you should have it. Better far it should be your bridal veil than to drape these abandoned legs of mine." And so it was that the scant costume of the Sultan's Dream became the bridal veil of the governor's lady. If Olga Obosky was sore at heart, she gave no sign.
"But I trust not as clumsy as one," said Madame Obosky, stretching her body in luxurious abandon. "I sit on the floor like zat, my friend, because my back is tired, not my legs. If I lie back in ze deck chair when I am tired, I would relax, and would make so much more regret for myself when the time came to get up again. Besides, it is a good way to rest, zis way. Have you never tried it?
Olga Obosky made the bride's bonnet and veil, and draped the latter on the morning of the wedding day. Like the fabled merchants of the Arabian Nights she appeared to the bride-elect and displayed her wares. From the depths of her theatre trunks she produced a bewildering assortment of laces, chiffon, silks, and the filmiest of gauzes.
"It is quite simple, Madame. I am very awkward. I have had no experience. But if we ever live to see home again, I shall prepare myself at once for work in France. We are needed over there. We will be needed more than ever, now that America has gone in. Our own soldiers are over there, God bless them." Madame Obosky gave her a pitying look.
Then, as the girls imparted in haste, she turned to Ruth. "I am very thoughtless. You are not in the habit of discussing your love affairs quite so generously as I. Poof! They do not care, those girls. Love affairs mean nothing to my girls." "I have no love affair to discuss, Madame Obosky. You need not have sent them away. Good-bye..There is nothing more to be said " "Do not go away, please.
There is a difference between contagion and infection, you know. Infection is the result of personal contact, contagion is something in the air. This epidemic of infatuation very plainly is in two forms. It appears to be both infectious and contagious. I rather fancy the amiable Obosky has selected the former type of the prevailing malady. Percivalitis, I believe, is the name it goes by."
"Can't you say, 'Gee, they was great, Olger'?" It was "Twelfth Night," and Olga's pupils had given a fairy dance on the Green. To conclude the almost mystic entertainment, the great Obosky herself had appeared in one of her most marvellous creations, the "Dance of the Caliph's Dream," the sensational, never-to-be-forgotten dance that had been the talk of three continents.
Madame Obosky says she never had any good luck moving by the light of the moon, and Careni-Amori says she doesn't blame her for feeling that way. Sort of cattish way of implying that the fair Olga could get along without any moon at all. Professional jealousy, I suppose." "I was speaking to Miss Clinton about it today," remarked Michael Malone. "What does she think about it?" from Percival.
There was a piquant boldness in the occasional misplacing of words and in the haphazard construction of sentences. She was unafraid. "I have subject him to much pain and discomfort," she went on, addressing the girl. "Those poor hand! It is I who should kiss them, Mademoiselle, not you." "Kiss them?" gasped Miss Clinton. "Of no doubt," said Madame Obosky readily. "Do they not pain because of me?
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