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Bacheller, Irving, 1859-1950

"Eben Holden, a tale of the north country"

Not in the palace of Versailles could one
have seen a more generous exposure of the charms of fair women.
None were admitted without a low-cut bodice, and many came that
had not the proper accessories. But it was the most brilliant
company New York had ever seen.
Too many tickets had been distributed and soon 'there was an
elbow on every rib and a heel on every toe', as Mr Greeley put it.
Every miss and her mamma tiptoed for a view of the Prince and
his party, who came in at ten, taking their seats on a dais at one
side of the crowded floor. The Prince sat with his hands folded
before him, like one in a reverie. Beside him were the Duke of
Newcastle, a big, stern man, with an aggressive red beard; the
blithe and sparkling Earl of St Germans, then Steward of the Royal
Household; the curly Major Teasdale; the gay Bruce, a
major-general, who behaved himself always like a lady. Suddenly
the floor sank beneath the crowd of people, who retired in some
disorder. Such a compression of crinoline was never seen as at that
moment, when periphery pressed upon periphery, and held many a
man captive in the cold embrace of steel and whalebone.


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