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Updated: June 6, 2025
Jett alternating punctiliously with each of the boarding-house ladies for driving companion. Every noon, for her delectation at luncheon, he sent a boy from the store with a carton of her special favorites Blue Point oysters. She suddenly liked them small because, as she put it, they went down easier, and he thought that charming. Lynnhavens for mortals of tougher growth.
Peopping. "Forty-three." Almost immediately Mrs. Dang caught at the pause for a case in point that had been trembling on her lips all during Mrs. Peopping's recital. "A doctor once told a second cousin of my sister-in-law's " and so on ad infinitum, ad lib., and ad nauseaum. That night Mrs. Jett did an unprecedented thing.
And whistled so through his shaving that his mouth was rayed with a dark sunburst of beard where the razor had not found surface. They talked of housekeeping, reluctantly, it is true, because Mrs. Plush herself was fitting up, of hard-to-spare evenings, a basinette of pink and white. They even talked of schools. Then came the inevitable time when Mrs. Jett lost interest.
Jett flung out her arm as if to ward off something. That arm encountered Henry, snoring lightly in his sleep at her side. But, unfortunately, to that frightened fling of her arm Henry did not translate himself to her as Henry. That was a fish lying there beside her!
Jett was apt to place a second kiss lightly upon the black and ever so slightly white mustache, or lay her cheek momentarily to his, as if to atone by thus yearning over him for the one aching and silent void between them. But in the main Henry Jett was a contented and happy man.
They could not, of course, articulate it, but the fact of the matter was not alone that Mrs. Jett. She was a little "too nice." Would flush at some of the innuendoes of the contes intimes, tales of no luster and dulled by soot, but in spite of an inner shrinkage would loop up her mouth to smile, because not to do so was to linger even more remotely outside the privileged rim of the wedding band.
He didn't, so could only be vaguely and futilely sorry. Then one day something quite horrible, in a small way, happened to Mrs. Jett. Sitting sewing, suddenly it seemed to her that through the very fluid of her eyeballs, as it were, floated a school of fish. Small ones young smelts, perhaps with oval lips, fillips to their tails, and sides that glisted.
Jett climbed into his dressing gown and padded downstairs for the loan of little Jeanette Peopping, with whom he returned, the delicious nub of her goldilocks head showing just above the blanket which enveloped her, eyes and all. He deposited her in bed beside Mrs. Jett, the little pink feet peeping out from her nightdress and her baby teeth showing in a smile that Mr.
As soon as he threw off his unwelcome burden, Jett always ran away to hide. With his tail slinking, his ears drooping, and crawling rather than walking, he was the most abject-looking, miserable cat in existence. Bessie meanwhile flirted herself saucily and chuckled with the conscious air of having done a very smart thing."
It was good to hear the clatter of milk deliveries, and the first bar of sunshine came in through the hand-embroidered window curtains like a smile, and she could smile back. Later she ventured down shamefacedly for the two cups of coffee, which she drank bravely, facing the inevitable potpourri of comment from this one and that one. "That was a fine scare you gave us last night, Mrs. Jett."
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