By Mary Roberts Rinehart
A vintage novel of romantic fiction and political research.
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Extra resources for A Poor Wise Man
She was very pale. "Look here, Miss Edith, you come in here and tell me what's wrong. Here's a chair. Now sit down and talk it out. " "There's nothing the matter with me. And if the boss comes in here and finds me -" Quite suddenly she put her head down on the back of the chair and began to cry. He was frightfully distressed. He poured some aromatic ammonia into a medicine glass and picking up her limp hand, closed her fingers around it. "Drink that," he ordered. She shook her head. "I'm not sick," she said.
Go on and talk, Willy. " "Not palaces like yours," repeated Mr. Cameron, "and not hovels. But mostly selfrespecting houses, the homes of the plain people. The middle class, Miss Cardew. My class. " Yet not even old Anthony could have resented the actual relationship between them. Lily Cardew, working alone in her hut among hundreds of men, was as without sex consciousness as a child. Even then her flaming interest was in the private soldiers. The officers were able to amuse themselves; they had money and opportunity.
Lily's own attitude was joyously carefree. Long lines of models walked by, draped in furs, in satins and velvet and chiffon, tall girls, most of them, with hair carefully dressed, faces delicately tinted and that curious forward thrust at the waist and slight advancement of one shoulder that gave them an air of languorous indifference. "The only way I could get that twist," Lily confided to her mother, "would be to stand that way and be done up in plaster of paris. " Grace was shocked, and said so.