“Oh, Ronald, do dance an Apache dance with me. David, Ronald won’t dance an Apache dance with me.” “Won’t he, dear? Well, never mind.” “But I do mind. I want to dance an Apache dance. Ronald, you are a pig.” Everybody pretended not to notice Ena Stratton in the middle of the ballroom floor. It was close on one o’clock. The local contingent, with the exception of the two doctors and their wives, had left nearly an hour ago. The party was warming up. “Well, if you won’t dance an Apache dance with ...me, Ronald, I’m going to climb up on the beam. David, give me a start.” Across the ballroom ran a big oak beam, about seven feet from the ground, part of the structure of the heavily timbered roof. It was Ronald’s custom, when he felt so disposed, to take a flying leap at it, swing himself up, and then taunt his male guests into trying to join him there. This time his sister-in-law was bent on forestalling him. “Aren’t you going to applaud the athletic introvert?” Roger dryly asked Margot Stratton.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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