She sat there, a mark for boulevarders, the unconscious object of numberless wondering glances. “How unkind!” she exclaimed. At Morningside Park I feel as though all my growing up was presently to stop, as though I was being shut in from the light of life, and, as they say in botany, etiolated. "Now stand before me, Poll. " "The pianist?" "Yes. Yet he’s been here for six years, and he’s as much a fixture as that sham mahogany sideboard. She was particularly charmed by his theory of friendship. Miss Mary to the life.
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