![]() It was September 1915, and Boston was experiencing an Indian summer, with temperatures scorching the sidewalks and causing the new automobiles to sputter and die along the side of the roads. She placed her feet, new buckled shoes and all, up on the pink cushions and pressed her temple against the warm glass with a wistful sigh. And she knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that going away to the Billings School for Girls was going to be the best thing that ever happened to her.Īs she sat in the cushioned seat of her bay window overlooking sun-streaked Beacon Hill, she folded her dog-eared copy of The Jungle in her lap, making sure to keep her finger inside to hold her place. She knew that she would much rather spend time with her blustery, good-natured father than her ever-critical, humorless mother-though the company of either was difficult to come by. She knew she couldn’t stand the pink-and-yellow floral wallpaper the decorator had chosen for her room. ![]() ![]() She knew she preferred summer to all other seasons. ![]() Even at the tender age of sixteen, Elizabeth Williams was the rare girl who knew her mind. ![]()
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