Yes, 'paspe, your old mother is to be married again!
Fannie, my baby!
I met him in London last summer and was immediately seized with the most unbelievable beguin. His name is Cohen, Manfred Cohen.
A Jew!
Yes, darling.
Laura will not receive you! Campaspe shouted with laughter.
That moron! Do you still see her?
Sometimes . . . enough to keep in touch with . . . Campaspe waved her hand in a vague gesture. . . . Oh! you know, WITH.
But how can you tolerate her? Cette femme est ridicule.
Chere Fannie, she's here so little. She summers in the Berkshires. She winters at Palm Beach. She opens the Horse Show and the Opera and then she goes away. Tell me more about Mr. Cohen.
I have no intention of being so simple, her mother responded. When you come over you can examine him for yourself. Tell me about your boys.
They are coming home from school today.
You like them?
Campaspe reflected. I may. I am waiting.
All life is a gamble.
Not, dearest Fannie, if you put your money both on the red and black and never take it out. . . .
