The line of the river scintillated with rising and falling stars.

The tall buildings stabbed the blackness, fingers of fire.

Here, midway to the clouds, was another world, a world of luxury, of brilliant toilettes, of light laughter, the popping of corks, the joy of living, with everywhere the vague perfume and flavour of femininity.
The young man from the country touched his cousin's arm suddenly.
"Tell me," he enquired, "who is the man at a table by himself?
The waiters speak to him as though he were a little god.

Is he a millionaire, or a judge, or what ?" The New Yorker turned his head.

For the first time his own face showed some signs of interest.