Explore "Suffered in Vain" by Bertha M. Clay on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
The sun, that was shut out by towering walls from the busy city, like some intrusive idler, was lying, half-slumbrously, like some magnificent Eastern slave arrayed in jewels and gold, among the brilliant-hued and many-scented flowers heaped under the striped Venetian blinds stretched over the balconies of a mansion in Lowndes Square.
An occasional soft breeze lifted the curtains lowered over the windows, granting a transient vision of apartments replete with luxury, glowing under the influence of an exquisitely delicate taste.