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Smith, Francis Hopkinson, 1838-1915

"Peter: a novel of which he is not the hero"


The drawing-room, too--although, as in all houses of its class and
period, a thing of gilt frames, high mirrors and stiff furniture--
was softened by heaps of cushions, low stools and soothing arm-
chairs, while Miss Felicia's own particular room was so veritable
a symphony in chintz, white paint and old mahogany, with cubby-
holes crammed with knickknacks, its walls hung with rare etchings;
pots of flowers everywhere and the shelves and mantels crowded
with photographs of princes, ambassadors, grand dukes, grand
ladies, flossy-headed children, chubby-cheeked babies (all
souvenirs of her varied and busy life), that it was some minutes
before I could throw myself into one of her heavenly arm-chairs,
there to be rested as I had never been before, and never expect to
be again.
It being Peter's winter holiday, he and Morris had stopped over on
their way down from Buffalo, where Holker had spoken at a public
dinner. The other present and expected guests were Ruth
MacFarlane, who was already upstairs; her father, Henry
MacFarlane, who was to arrive by the next train, and last and by
no means lest, his confidential clerk, Mr.


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