Peter's in Rome. I doubt that. I said to
him, "It certainly would hold a pile of clover hay." That went
clear past and beyond him. But who am I to tell a Brazilian how
big his dome is?
DOM PEDRO AND HIS MANY FANS
In Petropolis we went through the Palace of Dom Pedro. I'll not
try to tell you just who Dom Pedro was, and how he came to be,
because I don't know. I should, after all the Dom Pedroing I went
through that afternoon, but I got confused. But Dom Pedro had to
be some boy. Between him and his wife or wives and his sons and
daughters and grandsons and granddaughters, and their activities,
there wasn't much left to say about anybody else.
At the front door pious looking attendants slip felt slippers,
open at the heel, over your shoes, and from there on through the
palace you slide your way along the highly polished wooden floors
(original). Dom Pedro, his wife (let's give him credit for only
one) and their get were everywhere, in oil, bronze and marble,
horseback and on foot. But Dom himself seemed to take pretty much
to horses for the big pictures the big scenes. We saw the throne
room, bed rooms, dining hall, nursery and its cradles, uniforms,
swords, state dresses, black-hair combs a foot high, old china
and glassware and ladies fans.
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