One of those rare first novels of supreme individuality that come to a publisher only once in a blue moon, and that seem to strike an entirely new note in contemporary fiction. It is an ultra-modern story of a New York girl who in her innocence and desire to be a good sport, skims the very verge of the abyss without actually going over.
all the others were non esL
"There's Mary," Jimmie Greet said, indicating me.
Father consigned me to the nether regions without an upward glance, and the lady stretched in my direction. She was wearing an imitation moleskin coat with a squirrel collar--of all things-and an iridescent hat shaped like a salad bowl, with a hearth-brush effect over the right ear, the curved kind of hearth-brush that gets into all the corners and crevices.
"There's your father," said Tommy.
"You've seen him before this evening."
"He wants us to go over to his table."
"He doesn't; Jimmie Greer does."
"Who's the vamp?"
"She's Jimmie's vamp."
Father came over to speak to me.
"I ran into Jimmie and Mrs. Van der Water, a friend of his. I'll just have a sandwich and run home. Don't stay out too late yourself, Kitten."
"Who is Mrs. Van der Water?"
"A Canadian woman, a friend of Jimmie's. I never met her before."
When I got home Mother was