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Updated: June 12, 2025
How shall I endure the cold reality of my waking?" "Where is your joy, little one?" "Joy, Aunt Marthe!" exclaimed Evadne drearily, "why, I haven't got any apart from you. Just the mere thought of the separation makes my heart ache." "'The joy of the Lord," said Mrs. Everidge softly. "If Jesus Christ is able to fill heaven don't you think he ought to be able to fill earth too?
The delft does not feel the blow which would shiver the porcelain into atoms, and Reuben's epidermis is, I imagine, of such a horny consistency that he would walk in oblivious unconcern upon these elevations of needlework which are as a ploughshare to my sensitive nerves. It is the penalty one has to pay for being of finer clay than the common herd of men." Evadne looked at Mrs. Everidge.
You are so tender, so true. There is such a charm about you! You are so beautifully unselfish! Oh, my dear, my dear, how can you, do you bear it?" Mrs. Everidge lifted her face tenderly and kissed the quivering lips. "It is 'not I but Christ, dear child. That makes it possible." Then she drew her over to the lounge and began to undress her as if she had been a baby. "My dear little sister.
Of course, there's goin' to be some canned things, and some sardines, and some everidge liquids. You guess what besides that." I told him I couldn't guess. "Shore you couldn't," said Curly, dangling his bridle from the little finger of his left hand as he searched in his pocket for a match. He had rolled a cigarette with one hand, and now he called it a cigarrillo.
It's a wale o' tears an' we ain't got nuthin' else ter look fer but triberlation an' woe. Man ez born ter trouble ez the sparks fly upward, an' a woman allers hez the lion's share." Evadne burst into the sitting-room with flashing eyes. "Aunt Marthe, if I were Penelope Riggs, I would shoot her mother! She's just a crooked old bundle of unreasonableness and ingratitude!" Mrs. Everidge laughed.
You are a rich woman, Miss Hildreth." A great wave of joy swept over her bewildered face. "So God has sent me the fulfilment of my dream!" she said softly. And John Randolph understood. That evening she wrote to Mrs. Everidge. "Dear Aunt Marthe, The King's work is waiting for you in Marlborough.
But, Dick, how can you be such an atrocious sceptic as to doubt the possibility of one's living above the clouds when you know my lady! 'Ah, but she is Tryphosa, the blessed. 'Tryphosa! echoed Pauline in a mystified tone. 'That is her name, said Richard Everidge, with a tender reverence in his voice, 'and she deserves it, for she is among the aristocracy of the elect.
Professor Trenton had come and gone and the glory of the autumn was over the land. The early supper was ended and Evadne had ensconced herself in her favorite window to catch the sun's last smile before he fell asleep. In the room across the hall Mr. Everidge reclined in his luxurious arm-chair and leisurely turned the pages of the last "North American Review." It was Saturday evening.
She came back to the present again on the instant and met her niece's eyes with a smile, but in the subtle realm of intuition we learn by lightning flashes, and Evadne needed no further telling to know that the saddest loneliness which can fall to the lot of a woman was the fate of her aunt. Immediately after supper Mrs. Everidge persuaded Evadne to go to her room.
"When the wear and tear of time becomes visible in my underwear it must be relegated to Reuben." "But Reuben's affinity for patches may be no stronger than your own, Uncle Horace," said Evadne mischievously. Mr. Everidge waved his sock-capped hands with a gesture of disdain.
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