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Updated: June 18, 2025
"'Course, any one would expect she'd feel bad, seein' as how good David was ter her boy teachin' him ter play, ye know. But Mis' Glaspell says Joe jest does take on somethin' turrible, an' he won't tech the fiddle, though he was plum carried away with it when David was well an' teachin' of him. An' there's the Clark kid. He's lame, ye know, an' he thought the world an' all of David's playin'.
But the Glaspell larder was frequently almost as empty as were the hungry stomachs that looked to it for refreshment; and it would have taken a far more skillful cook than was the fly-away Betty to evolve anything from it that was either palatable or satisfying. With the coming of David into Joe's life all this was changed. First, there were the music and the companionship.
When he had returned Mr. Jack drew a long breath. "David, you are a wonder," he declared again. "And that violin of yours is a wonder, too, if I'm not mistaken, though I don't know enough to tell whether it's really a rare one or not. Was it your father's?" "Oh, no. He had one, too, and they both are good ones. Father said so. Joe's got father's now." "Joe?" "Joe Glaspell."
Never again did Mrs. Holly attempt to thwart David's generosity to the Glaspells; but she did try to regulate it. She saw to it that thereafter, upon his visits to the house, he took only certain things and a certain amount, and invariably things of her own choosing. But not always toward the Glaspell shanty did David turn his steps. Very frequently it was in quite another direction.
I did not understand it even when I looked again for the apparition in the firelight, and saw that it had vanished. There was nothing there nothing except the pleasant flicker of light and shadow on the old Persian rug. By SUSAN GLASPELL Laura stood across the street waiting for the people to come out from the picture-show.
No, apart from his nature poems, his studies of men and women are most impressive when they follow the lines of Doric simplicity in the manner of the powerful stage-plays written by Susan Glaspell. The rigidity of the mould seems all the better fitted for the suppressed passion it contains, just as liquid fire is poured into a vessel with unyielding sides.
Juliette, roused from her nap, was at first inclined to resent her visitor's presence. In five minutes, however, she was purring in his lap. The conquest of the kitten once accomplished, David looked about him a little restlessly. He began to wonder why he had come. He wished he had gone to see Joe Glaspell instead. He wished that Jill would not sit and stare at him like that.
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