There is the divinest patriotism in every line of it.
We saw it on a beautiful crisp day in November. It was our
Thanksgiving day at home. We drove along the lovely river-road from
Chinon to Velor, and upon our arrival we discovered that the Marquise
had arranged an American Thanksgiving dinner for us, sending even to
America for certain delicacies appropriate to the season. It was a
most gorgeous Thanksgiving dinner, for, aside from the turkey, lo!
there appeared a peacock in all its magnificent plumage, sitting there
looking so dressy with all his feathers on that we quite blushed for
the state of the turkey.
A month of Paris, and then I long for fresh fields and pastures new.
Of course there is nowhere like Paris for clothes or to eat. But when
one has got all the clothes one can afford and is no longer hungry,
having acquired a chronic indigestion from too intimate a knowledge of
Marguery's and Ledoyen's, what is there to do but to leave?
Paris is essentially a holiday town, but I get horribly tired of too
long a holiday, and after the newness is worn off one discovers that
it is the superficiality of it all that palls.
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