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Updated: May 9, 2025
I saw her glance rest lovingly on them many times, as she thought of her boy at home; and I wondered if the little basket-seller had really produced no impression whatever on her heart. A Genius For Affection. The other day, speaking superficially and uncharitably, I said of a woman, whom I knew but slightly, "She disappoints me utterly. How could her husband have married her?
In spite of your red cheeks, you are a real brownie. Do you know what a brownie is?" "No, miss," said Huldah, with a shake of her head. "I haven't ever been anything but a gipsy a basket-seller, I mean." "Well, basket-sellers can be brownies too, especially when they come in to help and protect poor, helpless old people, and sell their baskets to give the money to those who need it.
Last night I heard you both laughing about the old Indian basket-seller, and I just lay in bed and enjoyed your happiness." Carol forgot her misery-hunting in this solidarity of family life. She could depend upon them; she was not battling alone. Watching Mrs. Kennicott flit about the kitchen she was better able to translate Kennicott himself. He was matter-of-fact, yes, and incurably mature.
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