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Updated: May 3, 2025
There had been others in the group, theoretically for tea, but these were scattered now, and among the various bottles and glasses on the table there was no sign of a teacup. "So glad to see you alone a moment, Rachael one never does," said Florence. "Tell me, do you go to the Villalongas'?" "Clarence and Billy will, I suppose," the other woman said with an enigmatic smile. "But not you?"
The question of summer plans arose: the Villalongas wanted all the Breckenridges in their Canadian camp for as much as possible of July and August. Clarence regarded the project with the embittered eye of utter boredom, Billy was far from enthusiastic, Rachael made no comment.
Rachael's old friends Judy Moran, Elinor, and the Villalongas said, and said with truth, that she had changed. She had not tried to change, but it was hard for her to get the old point of view now, to laugh at the old jokes, to listen to the old gossip.
Warren might like it." Rachael pondered. Elinor Pomeroy and the Villalongas, the Whittakers and Stokes and Parmalees again! Noise and hurry, and dancing and smoking and drinking again! She sighed. "I believe I'll suggest it to Warren, Alice. Then if he's keen for it, we'll do it next year." "I would." Mrs.
Then it would be September, and everything would end as suddenly as it began. The Villalongas would go to Europe, or to Newport, Vera loudly, joyously, insistently urging everyone to visit them there if it were the latter. In November they would be in their town house with new paintings and new rugs to show their guests: a portrait of Vera, a rug stolen from a Sultan's palace.
But Rachael, who had spent a portion of six summers with the Villalongas, found herself, in her newly analytical mood, wondering just who got any particular pleasure out of it all. Vera herself, perhaps. Certainly her husband, who would spend all his time playing poker and tennis, would have been as happy elsewhere.
If Rachael goes West and I suppose she will shall I go up to the Villalongas'? They're terribly nice to me; and I think Vera suspects " "What makes you think she does?" Warren asked, feeling as if a hot, dry wind suddenly smote his skin. "Because she's so nice to me!" Magsie answered triumphantly. "Rachael's been just a little snippy to Vera," she confided further, "or Vera thinks she has.
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