Modern Chronicle, a — Volume 04 by Winston Churchill
page 46 of 89 (51%)
page 46 of 89 (51%)
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were sixty dollars.
"Sixty dollars!" exclaimed Honora. "Ah, madame, what would you?" Novelties were novelties, the United States Custom authorities robbers. Having attended to these important details, Honora drove to the restaurant in her hansom cab, the blood coursing pleasantly in her veins. The autumn air sparkled, and New York was showing signs of animation. She glanced furtively into the little mirror at the side. Her veil was grey, and with the hat gave her somewhat the air of a religieuse, an aspect heightened by the perfect oval of her face; and something akin to a religious thrill ran through her. The automobile, with its brass and varnish shining in the sunlight, was waiting a little way up the street, and the first person Honora met in the vestibule of Delmonico's was Lula Chandos. She was, as usual, elaborately dressed, and gave one the impression of being lost, so anxiously was she scanning the face of every new arrival. "Oh, my dear," she cried, staring hard at the hat and the veil, "have you seen Clara Trowbridge anywhere?" A certain pity possessed Honora as she shook her head. "She was in town this morning," continued Mrs. Chandos, "and I was sure she was coming here to lunch. Trixy just drove up a moment ago in his new car. Did you see it?" |
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