Fanny stood up, hurriedly. "I was just about to go."
"Try the grape pie, dear. It's delicious." And strolled
off down the aisle that seemed to stretch endlessly ahead.
Fanny stood for a moment looking after her, as though
meaning to call her back. But she must have changed her
mind, because she said, "Oh, nonsense!" aloud. And went
across to lunch. And ordered grape pie. And enjoyed it.
CHAPTER TEN
The invitation to tea came in due time from Mrs. Fenger. A
thin, querulous voice over the telephone prepared one for
the thin, querulous Mrs. Fenger herself. A sallow,
plaintive woman, with a misbehaving valve. The valve, she
confided to Fanny, made any effort dangerous. Also it made
her susceptible to draughts. She wore over her shoulders a
scarf that was constantly slipping and constantly being
retrieved by Michael Fenger. The sight of this man, a
physical and mental giant, performing this task ever so
gently and patiently, sent a little pang of pity through
Fanny, as Michael Fenger knew it would. The Fengers lived
in an apartment on the Lake Shore Drive--an apartment such
as only Chicago boasts.
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