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Updated: May 6, 2025
Joe visited the bathroom and noticed that she had left open the door to her bedroom. The bed was freshly made with lilac purple sheets. A huge white flower by Georgia O'Keeffe waited on the wall. He thought it would be nice to listen to music, but he didn't say anything. He was tuning into Mo's way of inhabiting her space, her large eyes, quiet, cat-like.
"They offer MFA programs non-resident, or close to it." "It's an idea. I'll think about it." Time slipped by. Mo told stories about summers on Nantucket where her grandmother had a twelve room "cottage" on the water. So that's where she developed her beach strut, Joe thought. Mo's father had slyly dominated the family even though her mother had all the money. Mo was ambivalent toward her father.
Perhaps the reason Miss Grahame's eye wandered after Aunt M'riar, who had followed Gwen and Dolly to "see that things were straight," she said was that she felt insecure on a social point. Uncle Mo's eye followed hers. "Nor yet M'riar," said he, seeing a precaution necessary. "Or perhaps I should say one. Not good for much, though!
I've no time to be telling what a boy says. No one any good, I'll go bail!" Whereupon, as Uncle Mo's curiosity was not really keenly excited, the subject dropped. But, as a matter of fact, Michael had contrived in a short time to give an account of his experience of yesterday. And he had left Aunt M'riar in a state of disquiet and apprehension which had to be concealed, somehow.
"She cooks at Tops in Kaneohe. Mo and I went to look at her once. That's what I called her." "So beautiful," Rhiannon said. Joe went for more wine. As he maneuvered to the table, he noticed a man, about seventy, with a familiar profile. Joe realized that he was Mo's father. "Excuse me," Joe said, reaching for a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc.
Thar're some among 'em, I reckon, as have reasoned out to themselves that a man's pursuit speaks louder in the years, arter all, than his praise. Now, thar's a fine, promisin' farmer, like the miller gone runnin' loose, mo's the pity." "A kind heart at bottom," said old Adam, "but he's got a deal of larnin' to do befo' he'll rest content to bide along quietly in the same world with human natur."
Yes'em dey is plenty o' colored churches in Louisville now, but when I were young, de white folks has to see to it dat we is Baptised an knows Bible verses an' hymns. Dere want no smart culled preachers like Reverend Williams ... an dey ain't so many now." "Up to Xenia is de culled school, an dey is mo's smart culled folks, ol' ones too dat could give you-all a real story if you finds dem.
It was an army hospital run on army lines but there were some civilian staff mixed in with the nursing sisters and MO's. The food was very good and I was surprised to find chicken on the menu quite often; iced water or a lemon drink was kept at the bedside in a little jug covered with a lace cloth to keep the flies off but there were no mosquito nets.
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