the window curtains, and the portières were all new and expensive.
Leo Tolstoy. Anna Karenina
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perhaps the leaping candlelight had fooled his eyes, for a portiere seemed to move too.
John Steinbeck. East of Eden, p.79 (1952)
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The villa is not worth that rent, but it is pretty. . . . Tall, with delicate walls and very delicate parapets, fragile, slender, painted a pale blue colour, hung with curtains, portières, draperies, it suggests a charming, fragile Chinese lady. . . .