Category: Edith Wharton

In Trust

In the good days, just after we all left college, Ned Halidon and I
used to listen, laughing and smoking, while Paul Ambrose set forth
his plans.


“I can never,” said Mrs. Fetherel, “hear the bell ring without a

Her unruffled aspect–she was the kind of woman whose emotions never
communicate themselves to her clothes-

Full Circle

Geoffrey Betton woke rather late–so late that the winter sunlight
sliding across his warm red carpet struck his eyes as he turned on
the pillow.


“You ought to buy it,” said my host; “it’s just the place for a solitary-minded devil like you. And it would be rather worth while to own the most romantic house in Brittany.


“Oh, there is one, of course, but you’ll never know it.”

The assertion, laughingly flung out six months earlier in a bright June garden,


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