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Fuller, Henry Blake, 1857-1929

"Bertram Cope's Year"

Some music had been arranged and there
would be an accompanist who would help him do himself full justice.
"They'll enjoy him," she thought confidently.
She had provided an immensity of flowers. There was an excess of light,
both from electric bulbs and from candles. And there was wine.
"I think I can have just one kind, for once," she had said to herself. "I
know several houses where they have two,--Churchton or not,--and at least
one where they sometimes have three. If this simple town thinks I can put
grape-juice and Apollinaris before such people as these...." Besides, the
interesting Cope might interestingly refuse!
As the many courses moved on, Cope smelt the flowers, which were too many,
and some of them too odoriferous; he blinked at the lights and breathed the
heavy thickening air; and he took--interestingly--a few sips of burgundy,--
for he was now in Rome, and no longer a successful Protestant in some
lesser town of the empire. He had had a hard, close day of it, busy indoors
with themes and with general reading; and he recalled being glad that the
dinner had begun with reasonable promptitude,--for he had bothered with no
lunch beyond a glass of milk and a roll.


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