Produced by Daniel Fromont
The Life and Amours
Beautiful, Gay and Dashing
Kate Percival
The Belle of the Delaware
Written by herself
Voluptuous, Exciting, Amorous and Delighting
1903
I am about to do a bold thing. I am about to give to the world theparticulars of a life fraught with incident and adventure. I am aboutto lift the veil from the most voluptuous scenes. I shall disguisenothing, conceal nothing, but shall relate everything that has happenedto me just as it occurred. I am what is called a woman of pleasure, andhave drained its cup to the very dregs. I have the most extraordinaryscenes to depict, but although I shall place everything before thereader in the most explicit language, I shall be careful not to woundhis or her sense of decency by the use of coarse words, feelingsatisfied there is more charm in a story decently told than in the boldunblushing 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 onthe banks of the Delaware, and about thirty miles from Philadelphia. Myfather's house was most romantically situated within a few yards of theriver. 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 thedwelling was a wood so dense and thick that a stranger un-acquaintedwith the paths through it could not enter. In front of the house, theriver on sunshiny days gleamed and glistened in the rays of the sun,and the white sails passing and repassing formed quite a picturesquescene. At night, however, especially in the winter time, the scene wasdifferent. Then the wind would howl and moan through the leafless treesand 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, andwhenever I hear the wind whistling at night, it always recalls, to mymemory my birth place.
My father was a stern, austere man, usually very silent and reserved. Ionly remembered seeing him excited once or twice. My mother had died inmy infancy—(I was but fifteen months at the time) and my father'ssister became his housekeeper. I had but one brother a year older thanmyself. How well I remember him, a fine noble-hearted boy full of loveand affection. We were neglected by our father and aunt, and left toget through our childhood's days as best we could. We would wandertogether hand in hand by the river side or in the woods, and often cryourselves to sleep in each other's arms at our father's want ofaffection for us. We enjoyed none of the gayeties, none of the sportsof youth. The chill of our home appeared to follow us wherever we went,and no matter how brightly the sun shone, it could not dissipate thechill around our hearts. I never remember seeing my father even smile.A continual gloom hung over him, and he usually kept himself locked inhis room except at meal times.
This life continued until I was ten years of age, when one day myfather informed me that the next day I was to go to Philadelphia to aboarding school. At first I was glad to hear it, for any change fromthe dull monotony of that solitary house must be an agreeable one tome. I ran to the garden to tell my brother; but the moment I mentionedit, Harry threw himself sobbing in my arms.
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