Explore "The Paliser Case" by Edgar Saltus on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
It was another perfect day, a forenoon after Veronese, a day of which the charm was heightened by the witcheries that Harlem knows -- the shouted temptations of push-carts; the pastimes of children, so noisy, so dirty, so dear! the engaging conversation of German ladies; the ambient odour of cabbage and the household linen fluttering gaily on the roofs. It was rapturous. Just beyond was a sewer -- the Hudson. But above was the turquoise of the mid-April day.
Cassy went by and on, turned a corner, crossed the street, descended into a cave, smiled sweetly at a man who was closing a door and who, seeing that smile, smiled at it, smiled wantonly, held the door open, yet, noting then but an arid blankness where her smile had been, banged the door and shouted fiercely: "Hundred-thirty-seven-street-next."