He remained silent until the model exited the room. His eyes fairly started out of his head, his hand gripped the edge of the table.” She presented the author with the wreath, and he accepted it wordlessly. By the time the girl reached his table, “Twain had every appearance of a man who had seen a ghost. A reporter from The New York Times in attendance that night later wrote that the “company smile” Twain had exhibited for most of the ceremony faded. With eyes fixed on the author, she glided up the aisle between the tables carrying a laurel wreath atop a satin pillow. Underneath a ceremonial white robe, she wore the armor of a 15th-century French soldier. Her hair was cropped just below her ears her face was angular but radiant. As he began to speak, a girl emerged from the back of the room. The writer had just risen to address the group. With one calculated stroke they left Mark Twain, author and noted quipster, speechless. On a December night in 1905, the New York City chapter of the Society of Illustrators managed to do something many thought impossible.
The Riddle Of Mark Twain’s Passion For Joan Of Arc
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