Angelika

“The desert's illimitable freedom," the officer murmured, as he poured out Simon's whiskey. "It's not altogether her fault, Mr. Jackson. It's these damned novelists. Every novel written about the desert should be censored by the police.”
― Francis Brett Young, Cage Bird, And Other Stories

“He lived and moved in a curiously exalted, isolated world between his office on Fifth Avenue, which resembled a millionaire's apartment, and his bachelor apartment on Park, which resembled a business man's office. He moved in a vicious circle so rapid that he hadn't even time to realize how rich he was. It was only during his hurried passage between these two high perches [...] that Ludlow Walcot's feet had any contact with his mother earth. All day and all night (for not even his dreams were his own) his giddy brain was assailed by business details which hammered at it with the persistence of a riveting machine, his stomach insulted by snacks and patent nerve-foods, that jostled each other in competing for the attention of his bewildered digestion.”
― Francis Brett Young, Cage Bird, And Other Stories

“It was true that the unexpectedness of the summons had rather taken his breath away. It had come as a laconic cable: Come Naples next boat if you want to marry. Cable reply. Agatha - which made him rub his eyes. But Simeon Jackson was a man of action, and his deep-rooted belief in the romantic waywardness of women had suggested to him that his little girl had been taught by the backwardness of Europe to realize the rock-bottom solidity of the American business man [...}”
― Francis Brett Young, Cage Bird, And Other Stories

“Fortunately, also, that very night the wolfish English summer discarded its lamb-skins.”
― Francis Brett Young, Cage Bird, And Other Stories