The simple and limited basis of this style of elegance was for them a wide field to prowl: in fact, just that day the exhibition of a new outfit had been carried out, and for the first time something had been invented that could only be worn in a boat. This consisted of a harmani.
Upon their heads was just such a sheet of narrow but long and thin Japanese silk, trimmed in imitation of old needlework with light, white, silken tatted lace, that winding around their necks, its long, white silken tassels partly hid the harmanis — which could be considered overly flamboyant — from chiding looks. However, a rather secret and candid feeling had informed her that if she continued to dress like her daughters, she would be risible.
This hood had produced a succession of jokes from Peyker and Bihter. While their Mother dressed to match them, they would be amused by this unending youthfulness; once their Mother separated from them in dress, the jokes reached new heights.
When she landed on the idea for the hood, they had at first questioned her seriously. Will you have a hood instead of a sheet? She had defended her idea. They had not been convinced by this explanation, but had continued, mock-serious:. If the night air were damp, it could very well be worn. The conversation had continued thus and finally ended, as all other subjects with their Mother ended, in a rant that lasted six hours and caused the woman to cry. This Mother, hearing her daughters — who, more than anyone, ought to be her allies — day by day denying her the right to primp, ended these occasional battles by weeping petulantly, like a helpless child.
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Her nerves, which had once made her one of the most shrewish of women, were now loosened, and made her cry at the most unexpected moments. These girls at her elbow, who seemed to grow ever younger, decreed an obvious denial, a physical taunt for her, and the relationship between these three women who had never been able to find happiness in the feelings that tie a mother to her children, did not exceed that of rivalry. Today, as she walked in front in her new yeldirme , in which she tried to keep youthful a body that had lost its freshness and was beginning to fill out with a heavy plumpness, the two sisters walking behind her were indicating the hood with their eyes and smiling.
Peyker, with an excessive feebleness, continued like one tired of carrying her load, leaning on her thinly-wrapped umbrella as though it were a cane. Bihter, on the other hand, walked as though not touching the ground in her yellow, high-heeled boots. The glove she had taken off her right hand was now held with her umbrella. Her waist was cinched to its limit. Her skirts only just wrapped around her, then dashed their waves far behind.
Though these two sisters walked at the same speed, one could be said to have had the appearance of resting, and the other of running. They turned the corner onto the quay. A ferry from further up the strait was sounding its horn as it neared the dock ahead. They would always disembark from the boat a little further off, and walk a way before they entered the house.
Peyker stopped to look. Out of curiosity, even before they entered the house, they paused under the balcony.
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They were all regarding him with questioning glances, and he was standing and smiling, not wanting to speak a single word. Peyker grew impatient. So the two sisters rushed inside. Now Nihat Bey, his head bare, wearing a loose, white linen jacket and slippers with soft white linen soles, was walking down the stairs to welcome them.
They all froze in shock. Her Mother and Peyker were awaiting the rest of the story.
Nihat Bey, certain of the importance of the news he was about to disclose and of the effect it would produce on them, reinforced his speechifying tone with the seriousness of his bearing and extended his hand. Bihter turned her head. That name had suddenly shaken her like a lightning strike. A question reached her lips. The man was past fifty! To be a suitor to a girl who was still a child! First me, now Bihter! Bihter smiled, there was now a layer of pink waving over her face; she looked at her brother-in-law, smiling in expectation of an explanation. Is the news you gave true? Look, Bihter is dying of suspense.
Why do you heed my Mother? Why should I be dying of suspense. Is Bihter to be a step-mother at her age? Bihter, as though she had been expecting the feeling of jealousy hidden under this claim, lowered her eyes and was silent. Adnan Bey talked of them too. The little boy will be staying at school from this year onward. The girl is now past her twelfth year and will surely soon be married too. Now, in her heart too, a small sentiment, its substance obscure, was causing her to find the thought of this marriage rather cold.
An instinct had warned her of the urgent need to shy away from continuing the discussion before her sister, and heralded that Peyker would be joining her Mother in this matter. Resolutely, she went up to her itty bitty room to think freely, to make a decision whether to be winner or loser before becoming the target of objections.
After closing her door, she threw whatever was in her hands onto the bed, and running to the window she pushed the shutter open with the back of her hand. The scent of the newly-watered earth mingled with that of the flowers, and cooled the white lilac-water-scented air of the room. Adnan Bey. This news had had a magical effect on Bihter. To be the sole proprietress of that great seaside mansion!
She wanted not to think on it for fear that, like a hope that outstripped a dream, if she persisted in thinking about it, it would be erased. This name placed before her eyes a smart, elegant member of a most prestigious world, a candidate to many opportunities of good fortune, a man whose beard — which it was difficult to discern from a distance whether it was grey or brown — was combed to the sides of his chin with an unobtrusive part, who was always well-dressed, who always lived fashionably, who, after he had — with a swift motion — cleaned his gold-wire-rimmed glasses with the tip of a white, elegant, linen handkerchief, his fingers imprisoned in thin gloves, took every chance of sending her hopeful glances, and who was beautiful despite the fifty years which were hidden with such skill.
Still a beautiful husband.
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That age, and the existence of two children did not leave enough space to constitute a great gap between this name and the aspirations of pomp and wealth of this twenty-two-year-old girl. After all, Adnan Bey was one of those men for whom age remains of the basest degree of importance. The children? An itty bitty mother!
To be the mother of a young woman at twenty-two! And the boy! She was even thinking of how they were to be dressed, when she laughed at her own haste. These were such small sorts of matters that they were quickly overshadowed by the startling nature of the real issue. But marriage to Adnan Bey meant one of the largest residences on the Bosphorus; the house in which, as one passed by, chandeliers, heavy curtains, carved Louis XV walnut chairs, lamps with large lampshades, and gilded desks and stools could be discerned through the window, and in the boathouse, a canoe, and the mahogany boat, covered with their clean white sheets.
Directing her thoughts back to her brother-in-law, a disparaging smile shaped her lips. Yes, in the end a husband such as this! She held the opinion that her brother-in-law was self-interested enough to appease every emotion. After deciding that he could be an ally to her in this issue, she thought of her sibling. Now, gazing from above at the small garden they tried to keep so meticulously tidy, there was in her eyes a look of haughtiness which descended down from the height of her dreams.
In an instant she saw her twenty-two years of life spent in this poor little house, in this little corner, the days dragging hours that passed with the same comings and goings. All the amusements, the outings, even the dresses that had until then been lovingly made and worn, even the best memories of her twenty-two years of life were lowered in her eyes to a base and pathetic level.
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Then she thought of herself: before her eyes she saw her own face, her own figure, hair, that elegant, eminent shape that gathered love and respect from the eyes of those that beheld her as they passed on the street; she smiled at this vision, half-shutting her eyes. To herself she listed, one by one, the details that accompanied this beauty.
She played waltzes, quadrilles and romances on the piano; if required to, she could quite beautifully accompany her dignified, expressive singing on the oud which she had learnt almost entirely by herself. Because they prevented her from the chance to hope for the realisation of her dreams, there was, in her heart, a deep hostility towards her family.
What a nice opportunity she would now have found, for taking revenge upon them! She had now definitely decided. She would not be defeated by any force that tried to turn her from this decision. She wandered around her room, smiling at herself in the mirror as she passed. She came once more to her window where a creeper was peeking in through the shutter as if smiling at her.
She plucked a small bud from it, and lost amidst her fevered thoughts, she brought the tip to her pearly, white teeth, biting it, her eyes half-closed absentmindedly in the darkness that had now fallen on the room. The garden had now changed; it had become a multicoloured exhibition of her fantasies. Please try again later. EXplosive Desire Marisa Michaels. Priestly Desire Collection Marisa Michaels. Stupid Cupid Marisa Michaels.
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