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Updated: June 6, 2025
I can't help feeling sorry for poor old Uncle Meriweather, who despises grape juice and misses his mint julep when he comes to dine on Sunday; but Charley forbids Jane to make him a julep; and I suppose he is right since he says it is a matter of principle. Even Jane, however, thinks dear Charley is going a little too far when he refuses to let me have the sherry and egg the doctor ordered.
There're some things, and I know Uncle Meriweather will agree with me, that it isn't in human nature to put up with." "If I were forty years younger I'd call him out and give him a whipping he wouldn't forget in a jiffy," blustered Uncle Meriweather, feebly violent. "There's no way of defending a lady in these Godforsaken days.
There's Cousin Jimmy and he's bringing Cousin Pussy and Uncle Meriweather!" "Oh, mother, I can't possibly see them! I feel as if it would kill me!" cried Jane in desperation. "Give her the camphor, mother," said Gabriella with grim humour as she went to open the door. "Brace yourself, my darling. They are coming," pleaded Mrs. Carr, as she slipped her arm under Jane's head.
"But not in a shop, my dear," protested Uncle Meriweather in the precise English of his youth. "Bless my heart!" chuckled Cousin Jimmy. "Business methods! You're as good as a show, Gabriella, and, by George! you've plenty of pluck. I like pluck in man or woman." "I shouldn't encourage her if I were you, Mr. Wrenn," said Cousin Pussy, almost forgetting to be indirect.
The woman looked keenly at her. "What yo' name?" she said. "My name's Patsy Ann Meriweather." "An' is yo' got a step-mothah?" "No," said Patsy Ann, "I ain' got none now, but I's sut'ny 'spectin' one." "What you know 'bout step-mothahs, honey?" "Mis' Gibson tol' me. Dey sho'ly is awful, missus, awful." "Mis' Gibson ain' tol' you right, honey. You come in hyeah and set down.
"Well, you've left him now anyway," said Gabriella, with the disarming candour which delighted Jimmy and perplexed Uncle Meriweather, "so somebody has got to help you take care of the children." "She shall never come to want as long as Pussy and I have a cent left," declared Cousin Jimmy, and his voice expressed what Mrs. Carr described afterward as "proper feeling."
She saw her mother, anxious, pensive, ineffectual, with her widow's veil, her drooping eyelids, and her look of mournful acquiescence, as of one who had grown old expecting the worst of life; she saw poor Jane, tragic, martyred, with the feeble virtue and the cloying sweetness of all the poor Janes of this world; and she saw Uncle Meriweather wearing his expression of worried and resentful helplessness, as if he had been swept onward against his will by forces which he did not understand.
I will get a place in a store and work my fingers to the bone, if only Jane will never go back." For a moment there was silence; but while Gabriella waited for somebody to answer, she felt that it was a silence which had become vocal with inexpressible things. The traditions of Uncle Meriweather, the conventions of Mrs.
She'd be a martyr without any martyrdom. When she made me give up tobacco, she lost interest in everything for a week. She was like your Uncle Meriweather after the surrender. There wasn't anything left to fight about, and fighting was all he could do " "I believe I really believe you have been drinking," interrupted Gabriella with cold disgust. "Suppose Jane were to die?" "She won't die.
Pokey married three times, and was the mother of fourteen children, nine of them sons. And are we any better off now than then, I ask? Whoever heard of a woman running away from her husband before the war, and now here is poor Jane " "But it isn't my fault, Uncle Meriweather!" cried Jane, in desperation at his obtuseness. "I've tried to be the best wife I could ask Charley if I haven't.
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