Starrett School for Girls - Starette Yearbook (Chicago, IL)

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her vitality-yet stimulate her senses in such an awful way? His words pounded, seared themselves into her brain and made her feel as though her soul, breaking free from its lifeless shell, would crash through into another world. How conscious and yet dazed she was as she retained sub-consciously the ideas he expressed, while at the same time her bewildered brain speculated on only the unfairness and cruelty of his actions. TASTE Bah! With sudden fury, she threw away the fruit she had absently put into her mouth. A bitter, acid taste remained, as unpleasant as the atmosphere about her. Distasteful-- how expressive a word! How well it expressed her feelings. That coarse, biting irrita- tion of the throat corresponded perfectly with the bitter situation. SMELL What was that? Ah-a breeze from across the waters, bringing the sweet odor of dying roses and old grass soaked with dew-an odor as ageless as Time-an odor of the sorrow and despair of the gods-seeping into the brain of man with insinuating ease. No human expression can describe well enough this subtle. most memorable' perfume of all. - Jane Hopkins, Senior LOVE The heavens were a pitch black, ' When out of the horizon rose a mellow glow. I was spellbound, caught in the beauty of the moment, Caught in the shadows of the moon. It grew in splendor, and the soft radiance spread a halo of white gold over all. It was beautiful, but, to me, one thing was lacking,- My dear, it was you. What good is a moon, if you have no one to share it with? What good is the stillness and beauty- If you are there alone? ' Oh! Do you understand? Please say you do, For it means all the world to me. ' If I must be caught alone, Then the least I can do is dream of you. You know, my dear, your coming into my life reminds me very much of this moment. All was black, when suddenly from out of my horizon rose a mellow glow- It was you with your soft light and radiant love. I was caught, blinded, but spellbound- Caught in the meshes of those rays. That light grew in beauty and splendor, Until now, I'm lost without its sweet and guiding power- Lost in the shadows of our love. Grace Andrews, Senior YOUR SMILE I've never seen a smile as sweet as yours. Those times when I was lonely, ill, or sad, Or worried with the simple cares of life You'd smile for me and then I would be glad. But you have left me-so today I went To call you liar, cheat-to make you pay- But when you met me at your door, you smiled, My words were left unsaidg I went away. Dorothy Gidwitz, Senior F arty

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Suddenly-inspiration! The girl of the book store! As he thought, his searching hands encountered a book. His own. But no-his own was under his arm! He looked at the title: The Rise and Fall of Chicken Itza, Vol. II. Come on! shouted Harry O'Toole. To the corner of Seventh and Van Buren, he shouted to the cab driver. Arrest that man, ordered the professor. The policeman clapped a pair of bracelets No time was lost and soon they were in the book store. to the wrists of the owner. This time with no one to stop him, he lifted the trap door and cried, Come out, Jack. Slowly, rubbing his eyes to accustom them to the light, a well-dressed, but slightly dishevelled young man, climbed forth. jack! came a feminine squeal. Mr. Murgatroyd, how did you get there? asked O'Toole- This man Becker waylaid me one night as I returned home after spending an evening with his daughter. He brought me here at night and fed me while Alyce was shopping. She knew nothing about it. Do you prefer to bring charges against him? Yes! Please reconsider, Mr. Murgatroyd. If you do that, it will make it impossible for you to win his daughter, and I believe you want her. Tell me your story, sir, he said as he turned toward Becker. I wasn't going to have Alyce entering into marriage without a true love on both sides. I took this means of testing them. I'm satisfied. He may marry my daughter if he withdraws, or rather doesn't prefer charges against me. otherwise- Your meaning is all to clear. Murgatroyd, you see how it is. You get angry-you don't get married. You be good and y0u'll be happy. How about it? I think that I'll be good. Mr.1er? O'Toole. What! came an outburst from the outraged Beeman. You told me that you are Donovan, and now you're- O'Toole. Quite right. I'm not on the force and never was. Oh! But the reward? You'll get that? No, he won't. You will. He'll get another thousand, said Murgatroyd. But how did you learn where I was? Well, I saw Alyce's picture in your studio. Then I saw that you were acquainted. I was bothered as to how you got together until I saw the book. The rest was easy. A iealous and powerful father, a carefully guarded trap-door, a beautiful girl who waited upon a handsome young mang love at Hrst sight. Nothing to it! And by the way, Jack, how much do you want for your volume of 'The Rise and Fall'? Marion Serum, Senior A SERIES OF SENSE IMPRESSIONS SOUND She sat silent, her head drooping low. His voice droned on-purring and hissing like a cat's-sometimes low and almost undistinguishable-then slowly rising, becoming decisive-with syllables curt and sharp-piercing her mind with their metallic bril- liance. A sudden halt, and again the smooth, silken words flowed easily and softly from his lips, blending to perfection with the lap of the waves upon the sand. Her sigh was echoed by the wind in the trees-her weeping by the mourning dove. FEELING -unreasonable- Could he realize what he was saying-understand her state of mind? Why was he hurting her so, with his chilling words that had the power to numb her reason-kill Thirty-Nine

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GYPSY CAMP SCENE The moon-a silver ribbon Floats on the clear, night breeze, Smoke-and a Gypsy campfire, Edge the rim of silver-tipped trees, Dogs and the pawing of horses, Croaking of frogs, sleek and wet, Swelling and puffing at rotted logs, From dank and marshy depths. The tongues of golden flame Cast mysterious shadows of light That flicker and dance and vanish away, Into the blue of the night. Hola! Hola! And the shouts Of olive-complected youths At the clang and twang of tamborines, And the fiery eyes that muse On the twinkling feet and bright tamborines Of the dancing Gypsy girlsg Guitars-and a soft, strained strumming Floats on the clear night breeze. In her tent, the Gypsy's hoarse humming- What is it the old hag foresees? Gipsey Wynekoop, Senior A BATH IN MOONLIGHT I'd like to take a bath In the heavenly blue In moonlight, My goal Wash my soul clean Will be to have my soul In starlight, Clean and shining, For soap, Iid use floaty Scrubbed with stars and clouds Clouds of white, With a silver lining Grab a jagged star That I may see the beauty Out of the night Of June For ascrub-brush Mirrored on the face To my soul. Of the moon. Ruth Kaufman, Senior BOOK IMPRESSIONS It seems strange how impressions, formed when the mind is rather immature and young, stay with one even when these impressions are in every danger of being thrown off. They are planted firmly in the mind to stay, it seems, and nothing can throw them entirely off, even though they may wear a bit, that is inevitable. Such is the case with my grandfather's library. When I was quite young and not old enough to read or to know the value of any book beyond those of Mother Goose, classic of the children, it was my great delight to pull out the volumes, big and little, good and bad, and play house with them by the hour. The library was a huge, musty room with books literally forming the walls of the place, and during the course of my playing I made large gaps in the walls, for I needed much material for my rooms and took it. The heavy encyclopaedias were the best, for they could stand Forty-One