The Age of Innocence
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The Age of Innocence is Edith Wharton's twelfth novel, initially serialized in four parts in the Pictorial Review magazine in 1920, and later released by D. Appleton and Company as a book in New York and in London. It won the 1921 Pulitzer Prize for Fiction, making it the first novel written by a woman to win the Pulitzer Prize for Fiction, and thus Wharton the first woman to win the prize.The story is set in upper-class New York City in the 1870s.
and the massive plate, she struck him as pale and languid; but her eyes shone, and she talked with exaggerated animation. The subject which had called forth Mr. Sillerton Jackson’s favorite allusion had been brought up (Archer fancied not without intention) by their hostess. The Beaufort failure, or rather the Beaufort attitude since the failure, was still a fruitful theme for the drawing-room moralist; and after it had been thoroughly examined and condemned Mrs. van der Luyden had turned her
the list of guests that she had put in his hand. When he entered the drawing room before dinner May was stooping over the fire and trying to coax the logs to burn in their unaccustomed setting of immaculate tiles. The tall lamps were all lit, and Mr. van der Luyden’s orchids had been conspicuously disposed in various receptacles of modern porcelain and knobby silver. Mrs. Newland Archer’s drawing room was generally thought a great success. A gilt bamboo jardinière, in which the primulas and
the Italian Renaissance. ay Jules Hardouin-Mansard (1646-1708), French architect favored by Louis XIV.
York into his drawing rooms, and for over twenty years now people had said they were “going to the Beauforts” with the same tone of security as if they had said they were going to Mrs. Manson Mingott‘s, and with the added satisfaction of knowing they would get hot canvas-back ducks and vintage wines, instead of tepid Veuve Clicquot without a year and warmed-up croquettes from Philadelphia. Mrs. Beaufort, then, had as usual appeared in her box just before the Jewel Song; and when, again as usual,
and two white-winged assistants were hovering about the flower-banked altar, and the first chords of the Spohr symphonyac were strewing their flower-like notes before the bride. Archer opened his eyes (but could they really have been shut, as he imagined?), and he felt his heart beginning to resume its usual task. The music, the scent of the lilies on the altar, the vision of the cloud of tulle and orange-blossoms floating nearer and nearer, the sight of Mrs. Archer’s face suddenly convulsed