J. D. Daskam, The Face of an Angel (1909)
“ Strickland looked curiously at the woman who had just spoken. He had gone to dancing-school with her and led the cotillion often with the prettiest bud of her season—once he had wanted to marry her. He fancied those violet eyes smiling into his over the pine table in his office, he fancied that ivory satin gown sweeping the floor of his one-storied house, twelve miles from a white man, and muttered scornfully to himself. ”
