When wealthy city people move to the country for the summer, their homes, though usually closed, do not remain untenanted. The furniture may be clothed in white muslin dust suits; only the window-buzzing of imprisoned flies may break the silence of the shaded rooms; but in the vacant dwellings a host of people and personages continue their existence without regard to season—smiling the same smiles, making the same gestures, staring perennially in fixed directions.
To bring such a host of permanent residents to Fifth Avenue, Manhattan, has cost millions of dollars. There...
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