[Forticsl-progetto] R women lead. Mine is a quiet amble along a countr

Sun Mar 28 11:11:08 CEST 2010

Enthusiastic guests made a punch. Fashionable young actors and actresses
began to arrive. Hilarity waxed,
impromptu speeches were made, songs rose on every key. Then suddenly
some one ran up to the victrola and turned on the jazz; and in a
twinkling the dining-room was deserted, furniture in the large
room upstairs was pushed to the wall and the night entered
on its last phase. Then only did Madame Zattiany signify her intention
of retiring, and Clavering, to whom such entertainments were too
familiar to banish for more than a moment
his heavy disquiet, hastened to her side with a sigh of relief and a
sinking sensation behind his ribs. Madame Zattiany made her farewells
not only with graciousness but with unmistakable sincerity
in her protestations of having passed her "most interesting evening in
New York." Miss Dwight went up to the dressing-room
with her, and Clavering, retrieving hat and top-coat, waited for her at
the front door. She came down radiant and talking animatedly to her
hostess; but when they had parted and she was alone with Clavering her
face seemed suddenly to turn to stone and her lids drooped.
As she was

about to pass him she shrank back, and then raised her eyes to his. In
that fleeting moment they looked as when he had met them first:
inconceivably old, wise, disillusioned. "Now for it," he thought grimly
as he close
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