The big maroon car glided along in such perfect rhythm that Cora
Kimball, the fair driver of the Whirlwind, heard scarcely a sound
of its mechanical workings. To her the car went noiselessly - the
perfection of its motion was akin to the very music of silence.
With a crunching of the small stones in the gravel drive, the big car
swung around to the side entrance of the house, and came to a stop,
with a whining, screeching and, generally protesting sound of the
brake-bands. A girl, bronzed by the summer sun, let her gloved hands
fall from the s ...