Through the double glass doors of the White House, past the expressionless Negro footmen, into the ultimate social sanctum of the land, there passed one afternoon last week a slender, middle-aged invited guest wearing an afternoon dress of capri blue chiffon, a grey coat trimmed in moleskin, a small grey hat, moonlight grey hose, snakeskin slippers. She was well pleased to be there; to be greeted by the First Lady; to see Mrs. Good, the Secretary of War's wife, pouring the tea, and Mrs. Attorney-General Mitchell conversing politely. Also present were a...
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