That night a brilliant crowd had gathered in Reginald Clarke's house. From the studio and the adjoining salon arose a continual murmur of well-tuned voices. On bare white throats jewels shone as if in each a soul were imprisoned, and voluptuously rustled the silk that clung to the fair slim forms of its bearers in an undulating caress.

chapter removed as per the request of the author

George Sylvester Viereck (December 31, 1884 in Munich, died March 18, 1962) was a German-American poet, writer, and propagandist. His father, Louis, born out of wedlock to German actress Edwina Viereck, was reputed to be a son of Kaiser Wilhelm I, although another relative of the Hohenzollern family assumed legal paternity. Louis in the 1870s joined the Marxist socialist movement, and in 1896 emigrated to the United States, followed by his wife and 12-year-old George Sylvester in 1897.

With the first flush of the morning Ethel appeared at the door of the house on Riverside Drive. She had not heard from Ernest, and had been unable to obtain connection with him at the telephone. Anxiety had hastened her steps. She brushed against Jack, who was also directing his steps to the abode of Reginald Clarke.

It's over for me...

I walk alone in the darkness as late becomes early.
Far away the sound of a dog barking as I take a full breath into my
lungs. Cool, still air with a small unexpected breeze.
Trees lit from underneath from street lights along my path.

I walk for miles, listening with my eyes, with my skin,