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Updated: June 29, 2025
And invariably he presently muttered something about asking "Cass" for the time, and so went down to the saloon of "J. Cassidy," just underneath his own residence. Emeline, alone, would brood resentfully over her cards. That was the way of it: men could run off to saloons, while she, pretty and young, and with the love of life still strong in her veins, might as well be dead and buried!
She still affected tight corsets, high heels, enormous hats. But Emeline's interest in her own appearance was secondary now to her fierce pride and faith in Julia's beauty. Drifting along the line of least resistance, asking only to be comfortable and to have a good time, Emeline had come to a bitter attitude of resentment toward George, toward the fate that had "forced" her to leave him.
The brother-in-law had found out that Emeline was living next door to the man she married, that her summer engagement was over, and he had come to take her away. "Well?" queried the inventor sharply, "if you haven't followed me, what are you doing here? What do you mean by being here?" "I belong here," desperately. "I work here." "You do?
At that level he cannot expect every one else to remain." "Not us, at least." "No." "Clara called to see Emeline yesterday. I saw her in the parlour, and asked her to excuse Emeline, as she was a little indisposed. It is true, I had to fib a little. But that was better than a renewal of an acquaintance that ought now to cease. She seemed a little hurt, but I can't help it." "Of course not.
A pause. Then: "Emeline, there's no use your tellin' me what ain't so. I know more than you think I do, maybe. If you was drivin' home why did you take the Denboro road?" "The Denboro road? Why, we only went on that a ways. Then we turned off on what we thought was the road to the Lights.
Julia, tired almost beyond endurance, still preferred to go with her father. There was not enough gas heat under Emeline's frying pan to cook a steak well; George growled as he cut it. Emeline jumped up for forgotten table furnishings; grease splashed on the rumpled cloth. After the one course the head of the house would look about hungrily. "No cheese in the house, I suppose?"
"I forgot I'd promised to go out with the girls, George," she began. "You don't care, do you? You've had your supper, and all Julia's got to do is get into bed." George looked balefully from one to the other. Mrs. Povey chanced a quick little wink of approval and encouragement at Emeline, and he saw it. "A lot you forgot!" he said harshly to his wife. "You've been getting ready for the last hour.
And Aunt Mahala is very good about the house, and minds mother. The revelation may be plain enough, but I am not the kind of a girl," declared Roxy, daringly, as one might blaspheme, "that cares a straw for the revelation." Emeline took hold of her arm, and they walked on with a new sense of companionship. "A great many of the people feel the same way about it.
George was clumsily enthusiastic. Gosh, if she would do that if she could stand its being a little quiet "I'd get to know the neighbours, and we'd have real good times," said Emeline optimistically, "and it would be grand for Julie!" Julia had by this time gone off to sleep in the centre of the large bed.
She would limp about her bare, uninviting little rooms, complaining of her husband's increasing meanness and of her own physical ills, while with gnarled, twisted old hands she filled a "Rebecca" teapot of cheap brown glaze, or cut into a fresh loaf of "milk bread." "D'ye see George at all now, Emeline?" "Not to speak to, Mom.
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