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She would roll up a piece of paper, and call out through it, "Hullo!" asking and answering all the questions herself. One day, on finding herself alone, she took down the receiver and tried to talk to one of her mama's friends, but it was a failure. She watched mama still more closely after that.
Yet they are happy, you say, those two gentle people perpetuating spring on canvas and cambric. See, there is a small cloud of butterflies hovering about them one of them is panting in fairy-like ecstasy on the poppy that decorates your Mama's hat!" Paul rolled a cigarette and offered it to Miss. Juno, in a mild spirit of bravado.
"Huh!" ejaculated the proprietor of the Saint Cecilia shop. "Mama's angel boy! That must have been a long time ago." The visitor did not answer; he pushed back uncertainly the uncertain lock of dark hair and seemed almost to have forgotten the object of his visit. "Now see here" Mr.
"My mama's got a box of red stuff that she puts on her face when she goes to the card parties. She never puts none on when she just goes to the Aid. I can run home and get the box to make us red like Injuns," said Frances. "My mother has a box of paint, too." "I ain't never see Aunt Minerva put no red stuff on her face," remarked Billy, disappointedly.
My children are dead and my husband is dead. "I belong to the Baptist church down on Spring Street. I always unite with the church whenever I go to a place. I don't care whether I stay there or not. "My mama's master was good as far as white folks generally be in slavery times. He never whipped my grandmother nor my mother. He was good to the field hands too. He never whipped them.
My mama's going to give me a new mask 'cause I all time stay at home; so we'll trade you our old one. Go get it, Billy." Thus commanded Billy ran and picked up the bustle where it lay neglected on the grass and handed it to the quasi-owner of the puppy.
The trouble with you, Jim, is that you're romantic. Mama's going to your Commencement. She asked me the other day if I knew what your oration is to be about. She wants you to do well. I thought my oration very good. It stated with fervour a great many things I had lately discovered. Mrs.
Mama's scheme of painting a large landscape and selling it to General Bradley for two hundred dollars, must give place to another which has just come into my head: that of sending to you for my great canvas and painting the quarrel at Dartmouth College, as large as life, with all the portraits of the trustees, overseers, officers of college, and students; and, if I finish it next week, to ask five thousand dollars for it and then come home in a coach and six and put Ned to the blush with his nineteen subscribers a day.
Centlivre had this to say in her epilogue, upon the mooted question of feminine loquacity: "Keep a secret, says a beau, And sneers at some ill-natured wit below; But faith, if we should tell but half we know, There's many a spruce young fellow in this place, Wou'd never presume to show his face; Women are not so weak, what e'er men prate; How many tip-top beaux have had the fate, T'enjoy from mama's secrets their estate!
"Mama's own girl that minds." They fell quiet, cheek to cheek, staring ahead into the gaslit quiet, the clock ticking into it. The tears had dried on Mrs. Kaufman's cheeks, only her throat continuing to throb and her hand at regular intervals patting the young shoulder pressed to her. It was as if her heart lay suddenly very still in her breast. "Mama's own girl that minds." "It it's late, ma.
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