The air was crisp, clear, intoxicating. To her Chicago eyes
the buildings, the streets, the very sky looked startlingly
fresh and new-washed. As the 'bus lurched down Fifth avenue
she leaned over the railing to stare, fascinated, at the
colorful, shifting, brilliant panorama of the most amazing
street in the world. Block after block, as far as the eye
could see, the gorgeous procession moved up, moved down, and
the great, gleaming motor cars crept, and crawled, and
writhed in and out, like nothing so much as swollen angle
worms in a fishing can, Fanny thought. Her eye was caught
by one limousine that stood out, even in that crush of
magnificence. It was all black, as though scorning to
attract the eye with vulgar color, and it was lined with
white. Fanny thought it looked very much like Siegel &
Cowan's hearse, back in Winnebago. In it sat a woman, all
furs, and orchids, and complexion. She was holding up to
the window a little dog with a wrinkled and weary face, like
that of an old, old man. He was sticking his little evil,
eager red tongue out at the world.
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