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Kate Percival. The Life and Amours of the Beautiful, Gay and Dashing Kate Percival, The Belle of the Delaware
Chapter I – CHILDHOOD
Chapter II – THE MYSTERIES OF A CONVENT
Chapter III – A NEW SCENE
Chapter IV – AN ORGY
Chapter V – HERBERT CLARENCE'S HISTORY
Chapter I – HERBERT CLARENCE'S HISTORY CONTINUED
Chapter II – AMY DENMEAD'S HISTORY
Chapter III – A CHANGE OF FORTUNE
Chapter IV – MY FATHER'S LAWYER
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I am about to do a bold thing. I am about to give to the world the particulars of a life fraught with incident and adventure. I am about to lift the veil from the most voluptuous scenes. I shall disguise nothing, conceal nothing, but shall relate everything that has happened to me just as it occurred. I am what is called a woman of pleasure, and have drained its cup to the very dregs. I have the most extraordinary scenes to depict, but although I shall place everything before the reader in the most explicit language, I shall be careful not to wound his or her sense of decency by the use of coarse words, feeling satisfied there is more charm in a story decently told than in the bold unblushing use of term which ought never to sully a woman's lips.
I was born in a small village in the state of Pennsylvania, situated on the banks of the Delaware, and about thirty miles from Philadelphia. My father's house was most romantically situated within a few yards of the river. It was supported as it were, at the back by a high hill, which, in summer was covered with green trees and bushes. On each side of the dwelling was a wood so dense and thick that a stranger un-acquainted with the paths through it could not enter. In front of the house, the river on sunshiny days gleamed and glistened in the rays of the sun, and the white sails passing and repassing formed quite a picturesque scene. At night, however, especially in the winter time, the scene was different. Then the wind would howl and moan through the leafless trees and the river would beat against the rocks in a most mournful cadence. To this day I can remember the effect it had on my youthful mind, and whenever I hear the wind whistling at night, it always recalls, to my memory my birth place.
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"I never felt so happy in my life, Laura. I could live and die in your arms."
I now carried my hand to her globes of alabaster and pressed and molded them, imitating her in all her actions. Nay, more, I turned down the bedclothes and, unbuttoning her nightdress in front, I exposed those charming, snowy hillocks to my delighted gaze. The light of the lamp shone directly upon them, and I was never tired of admiring the whiteness, firmness and splendid development of those glowing semiglobes. I buried my face between them and pressed a thousand kisses on the soft velvet surface.
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