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Akemit had once confided to an intimate in an hour of negligee, "to meet a man, any man, from a red-cheeked butcher boy to a bloodless monk, and not make him feel something new for you something he never before felt for any other woman really it's as criminal as a wrinkled stocking, or for blondes to wear shiny things.
Akemit reclined picturesquely near by, and Doctor von Herzlich explained, with excessive care as to his enunciation, that protoplasm can be analysed but cannot be reconstructed; following this with his own view as to why the synthesis does not produce life. "You wonderful man!" from Mrs. Akemit; "I fairly tremble when I think of all you know. Oh, what a delight science must be to her votaries!"
Do we not in our secret soul of souls nourish this beatitude: "Blessed is the man who destroys all barriers"? Florence Akemit said as much one day, and Florence, poor soul, knows something of the matter.
Van Geist, when the tea had been brought by Sandon, "I read in the paper this morning that he'd taken a party to North Carolina for the quail shooting, Eddie Arledge and his wife and that Mr. and Mrs. Garmer, and of course Florence Akemit. Should you have thought she'd marry so soon after her divorce? They say Bishop Doolittle is frightfully vexed with her." "Really I hadn't heard.
"You know you did make me promise it mentally, because I knew you'd want to come and want me to come, but I was afraid Mrs. Akemit mightn't understand about telepathy, so I pretended we'd arranged it all in words." "Of course! Great joke, wasn't it?" assented the young man, rather awkwardly. Down the broad sweep of roadway, running between its granite coping, they strode at a smart pace.
And as blond and fluffy little Mrs. Akemit, a late divorcee, joined the group the talk ranged back to the flourishing new hunt at Goshen, the driving over of Tuxedo people for the meet, the nasty accident to Warner Ridgeway when his blue-ribbon winner Musette fell upon him in taking a double-jump. Miss Milbrey had taken stock of her fellow guests.
I know from Fidelia Oldaker that the bishop began to cut up about it to Florence, and Florence defied him. That ancient theory that most gossip is without truth was exploded long ago. As a matter of fact most gossip, at least about the people we know, doesn't do half justice to the facts. But, really, I can't see why he fancied Florence Akemit.
Miss Akemit had once been out in the woods, it appeared, and a "biting-wolf" chased her, and she ran and ran until she came to a river all full of pigs and fishes and berries, so she jumped in and had supper, and it wasn't a "biting-wolf" at all and then But the narrative was cut short by her mother. "Come, Pet! Mr. Bines wishes to go now."
Akemit, gowned to perfection, glowing, and wearing a bunch of violets bigger than her pretty head. "I've just sent cards to your mother and sister," she explained, as she made room for him upon the divan. To them came presently Mrs. Drelmer, well-groomed and aggressively cheerful. "How de do! Just been down to Wall Street seeing how my other half lives, and now I'm famished for tea and things.
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