Get 20M+ Full-Text Papers For Less Than $1.50/day. Start a 14-Day Trial for You or Your Team.

Learn More →

Jane Heap and Her Circle

Jane Heap and Her Circle Linda Lappin "Jane was her name and Jane her station" ­ Gertrude Stein Late one morning in February, 1921, two women followed an Irish police officer through the corridors of the Jefferson Street Police Court of New York City. The men bustling about the offices lifted their heads to observe these two unlikely criminals on their way to be fingerprinted. One was a lady of high fashion, wearing a tailored blue suit and a cloche hat, a string of pearls looped upon her satin blouse, and a pale silk rose pinned to her lapel. She walked with self-confidence and poise, as if striding across a stage to take a last bow. Indeed, she was a gifted pianist accustomed to smiling down upon admiring audiences, but today her face was a mask of disdain: arched eyebrows finely tweezed, nose discreetly powdered, dark red lips. Her right hand was gloved, the left bare. Behind her walked a short squarish woman with close-cropped hair, sporting a man's jacket over a broad black skirt, a black bow tie, and deep scarlet lipstick. Led to a desk where another policeman awaited, the chic lady in blue balked at the ink into which she http://www.deepdyve.com/assets/images/DeepDyve-Logo-lg.png Prairie Schooner University of Nebraska Press

Jane Heap and Her Circle

Prairie Schooner , Volume 78 (4) – Dec 28, 2004

Loading next page...
 
/lp/university-of-nebraska-press/jane-heap-and-her-circle-5pXKhMeHxQ
Publisher
University of Nebraska Press
Copyright
Copyright © 2004 by the University of Nebraska Press.
ISSN
1542-426X
Publisher site
See Article on Publisher Site

Abstract

Linda Lappin "Jane was her name and Jane her station" ­ Gertrude Stein Late one morning in February, 1921, two women followed an Irish police officer through the corridors of the Jefferson Street Police Court of New York City. The men bustling about the offices lifted their heads to observe these two unlikely criminals on their way to be fingerprinted. One was a lady of high fashion, wearing a tailored blue suit and a cloche hat, a string of pearls looped upon her satin blouse, and a pale silk rose pinned to her lapel. She walked with self-confidence and poise, as if striding across a stage to take a last bow. Indeed, she was a gifted pianist accustomed to smiling down upon admiring audiences, but today her face was a mask of disdain: arched eyebrows finely tweezed, nose discreetly powdered, dark red lips. Her right hand was gloved, the left bare. Behind her walked a short squarish woman with close-cropped hair, sporting a man's jacket over a broad black skirt, a black bow tie, and deep scarlet lipstick. Led to a desk where another policeman awaited, the chic lady in blue balked at the ink into which she

Journal

Prairie SchoonerUniversity of Nebraska Press

Published: Dec 28, 2004

There are no references for this article.