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I've always wanted to do just that think of it, the Palisades just opposite, and I never see them except for a walk of half a mile or so when I stay with a friend of mine, Laura Needham, at Winklehurst, up on the Palisades. My mother never approved of a wilder wilderness than Central Park and the habit I've never been able to get Olive to explore.
Laura always was ree-fined, but I wouldn't trust her to be proof against the feeling of wild dissipation you can get out of chewing gum, if you live in Winklehurst." They had rung the door-bell on the porch by now. "I'm so glad," said Ruth, "that Laura is gone. She is very literal-minded.
"It's I'm glad Say, gee! we'll have to hurry like the dickens if we're going to catch a ferry in time to get you home for dinner." "I have an idea. I wonder if we dare I have a friend, sort of a distant cousin, who married her a husband at Winklehurst, on the Palisades, not very far from the ferry. I wonder if we couldn't make her invite us both for dinner?
As they left the shop, went over a couple of blocks for the Winklehurst trolley, and boarded it, Carl did some swift thinking. He was not above flirting or, if the opportunity offered, carrying the flirtation to the most delicious, exciting, uncertain lengths he could.
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