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Updated: June 22, 2025
You talk to your mother the way you know she's to be talked to!" "I.W., she didn't " "You hear me!" "I.W.! Don't holler at her; she " "She ain't your boss? Well, she just is your boss! You take back them words and say you're sorry! You apologize to your mother!" Immediate sobs were rumbling up through Miss Goldstone. "Well, she I I didn't do anything. She's down on him. She "
Among these, one lady of magnificently millinered aspect, and a smallish man in very new and shiny riding boots, of which he is grandly conscious. There are introductions. "Mr. Goldstone, meet Mrs. Silverware." They are met. There is a flashing of eyes. Three or four silk hats simultaneously leap into the shining air, are flourished and replaced.
Behind those vines, and so cunningly concealed by them that not even the white wrapper could flash through to the passerby, Mrs. I.W. Goldstone, in a chair that would rock rhythmically with her, loved to sit in the first dusk of evening, pleasantly idle. A hose twirling on the lawn spun up the smell of green, abetted by similar whirlings down the wide vista of adjoining lawns.
In the deep shade of the veranda's elbow a small figure lay deep in sleep in the wicker rocker, one bare arm up over her head and lips parted. In a straight chair beside her Mrs. Goldstone sat down. She was shuddering with chill and repeating to herself, quite aloud and over and over again: "What have I done? What have I done? What have I done?"
The university clock, a mile out, chimed twelve, and finally a sonorous one. Mrs. Goldstone lay huddled in her chair, vibrant for sound. At two o'clock the long, high-power car drew up at the curb again, this time without honking. She sat forward, trembling. There followed a half-hour of voices at the curb, a low voice of undeniable tensity, high laughter that shot up in joyous geysers.
I I'll be all right." "My poor, darling, cold mommie!" She was off on the slim, quick feet, the screen door slamming and vibrating. Then Mrs. Goldstone sprang up. "You wouldn't dare! Such a baby you wouldn't dare!" "Dare what?" "You can't have the child! You can't!" "What do you mean?" "What do I mean?" He advanced a step, his voice and expression lifted in incredulity.
A curious ropework decoration on the bases is said to be characteristically Roman, occurs on a monument outside the Porta Maggiore at Rome. #The Deanery# is a very much revised version of what once was the "New Lodging," a building set up for the entertainment of strangers by Prior Goldstone at the beginning of the sixteenth century.
To see his looks dim and his eagerness relax was too painful. I watched the water ridging against the horizon like goldstone and changing swiftly to the blackest of greens. Distance folded into distance so that the remote drew near.
Tell Kess he should come for Sunday dinner to-morrow." She was a white streak across the grass, her nervous feet flying. Almost instantly the honk of a horn came streaming back, faint, fainter. Left standing there, Goldstone was instantly solicitous of his wife, feeling along her arm up under the loose sleeve.
The dining-room was no place for particular company like him, and bringing him in that way didn't give her time to smooth her hair, pull shut her dress band at the neck, put on her collar, and shiny goldstone pin, her white apron, and rub her little flannel rag, with rice flour on it, on her nose to take away the shine. I had made a mess of it.
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