|05-01-2009, 08:08 AM||#1|
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Sedgwick, Anne Douglas: Franklin Kane. V1. 1 May 2009
Anne Douglas Sedgwick (March 28, 1873 - July 19, 1935) was an American-born British writer. The daughter of a businessman, she was born in Englewood, New Jersey but at age nine her family moved to London. Although she made return visits to the United States, she lived in England for the remainder of her life.
In 1908, she married the British essayist and journalist, Basil de Sélincourt. During World War I she and her husband were volunteer workers in hospitals and orphanages in France.
Her novels explored the contrast in values between Americans and Europeans. He bestsellin novel Tante was made into a 1918 film, The Impossible Woman and The Little French Girl into a 1925 film of the same name. In 1931, she was elected to the United States National Institute of Arts and Letters. Four of her books were on the list of bestselling novels in the United States for 1912, 1924, 1927, and 1929 as determined by the New York Times.
Anne Douglas Sedgwick died in Hampstead, England in 1935. The following year her husband published "Anne Douglas Sedgwick: A Portrait in Letters."
Miss Althea Jakes was tired after her long journey from Basle. It was a brilliant summer afternoon, and though the shutters were half closed on the beating Parisian sunlight, the hotel sitting-room looked, in its brightness, hardly shadowed. Unpinning her hat, laying it on the table beside her, passing her hands over the undisordered folds of her hair, Miss Jakes looked about her at the old-gold brocade of the furniture, the many mirrors in ornate gold frames, the photographs from Bougereau, the long, crisp lace curtains. It was the same sitting-room that she had had last year, the same that she had had the year before last—the same, indeed, to which she had been conducted on her first stay at the Hôtel Talleyrand, eight years ago. The brocade looked as new, the gilded frames as glittering, the lace curtains as snowy as ever. Everything was as she had always seen it, from the ugly Satsuma vases flanking the ugly bronze clock on the mantelpiece, to the sheaf of pink roses lying beside her in their white paper wrappings. Even Miss Harriet Robinson's choice of welcoming flowers was the same. So it had always been, and so, no doubt, it would continue to be for many years to come; and she, no doubt, for many summers, would arrive from Basle to sit, jadedly, looking at it.
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