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George could not help smiling all the more that he was conscious of relief. She would not be asking him to admire her dress if there were fresh debts to confess to him. "It makes you look wonderfully young," he said, turning a critical eye, first upon the elegant gown of some soft pinky stuff in which his mother had arrayed herself, then upon the subtly rouged and powdered face above it.
There were four or five ladies in attendance on the school, which, under the superintendence of one of them, a woman past middle life, with a pale, serious face and a voice clear and sweet, was conducted with an order and decorum not often maintained among a class of children such as were there gathered together. It was a long time since Pinky had found herself so repressed and ill at ease.
Soon the fire was made, and the sudsie-soapy water was boiling the clothes to sort of cook them nice and clean, and Pinky had the clothes pins all ready. Flop had put up the line, after he had brought in the firewood, and Curly was all ready with the wringer. Well, you should have seen Mrs. Twistytail rub-adub-dub the clothes up and down on the washboard.
Father Brewster lingered for an unwonted hour after the midday meal. But two o'clock found him back at the cold-storage plant. Pinky watched him go, a speculative look in her eyes. She visited the attic that afternoon at four, when it was again neat, clean, orderly, smelling of soap and sunshine.
"Got her all right, haven't I?" "Well, you have!" answered the woman, shaking all over with unrestrained laughter. "The fattest pigeon I've happened to see for a month of Sundays. Is she very rich?" "Her husband is, and that's all the same. And now, Pinky" Mrs. Bray assumed a mock gravity of tone and manner "you know your fate New Orleans and the yellow fever. You must pack right off.
"I don't want 'em but I have to have 'em, and, as you are the only thing that's good for them, I'm going to take you away with me. No, on second thought, I'll eat you up here and now." "Oh, please don't!" cried Baby Pinky, and she wished, Oh! how she did wish her mamma would come back. "How did you get in here?" she asked. "I just waited until I saw Mrs.
This is one of the most beautiful and showy species, with dense clusters of small, pinky flowers. V. MYRTILLUS. Whortleberry, Bilberry, Blackberry, and Blueberry. A native plant, with angular stems, ovate-toothed leaves, and pinky-white flowers, succeeded by bright, bluish-black berries. V. PENNSYLVANICUM. New England to Virginia, 1772.
People don't clean them any more. I never realized before this huge house. It has been wonderful to come back to, of course. But just you and dad." She stopped. She raised two young fists high in impotent anger. "Do you like cleaning the attic?" "Why, no. I hate it." "Then why in the world " "I've always done it, Pinky.
Nothing is more passé than a last summer's hat, yet the leghorn and pink-cambric-rose thing in the tin trunk was the one Mrs. Brewster had worn when a bride. The smell of soap and water, and cedar, and moth balls, and dust, and the ghost of a perfumery that Pinky used to use pervaded the hot attic. Mrs.
The flowers, which are bell-shaped and white, are almost lavishly produced, and as they last for a very long time, with only the pure white assuming a pinky tinge when subjected to excessive sunshine, the value of the shrub is still further enhanced.
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