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Updated: May 18, 2025
"I want to talk to you and Chris," the old lady said, contentedly closing her eyes. "Everybody else out!" she whispered. The room was immediately cleared. "It can't hurt her now!" Doctor Murray looked rather than said to Norma as he passed her. Chris watched the closing doors, sat beside the bed's head with one arm half-supporting his mother-in-law's pillows.
When Fitzroy, who was in his little study, which opens into his little dining-room one of those absurd little rooms which ought to be called a gentleman's pantry, and is scarcely bigger than a shower-bath, or a state cabin in a ship when Fitzroy heard his mother-in-law's knock, and her well-known scuffling and chattering in the passage in which she squeezed up young Buttons, the page, while she put questions to him regarding baby, and the cook's health, and whether she had taken what Mrs.
I would like to see Ury try that on any of my lumber. And because we Jonesvillians wear black to funerals, they have to dress in white. Plow would I looked at my mother-in-law's funeral with a white night gown on and my hair braided down my back with a white ribbin on it? It would have took away all the happiness of the occasion to me.
In the first place, she was in no condition to discuss any subject, let alone one fraught with so many possibilities of excitement. In the second place, I was determined that no one should discuss that old secret with my husband before I had a chance to talk to him concerning it. "Well, you needn't go to sleep just because Richard is." My mother-in-law's impatient voice brought me back to myself.
But, though she might disapprove of her mother-in-law's philosophy, there was no question about her fervent admiration for her disposition. It was Mrs. Fowler's habit to appear "sweet," and never once did Gabriella see her lose her temper, never once, no matter how hard the day or how exasperating the accounts, did she show so much as a passing hint of irritability.
My tranquillity as a woman perhaps my dearest interests as a wife depended absolutely on penetrating the mystery of my mother-in-law's conduct, and on discovering the true meaning of the wild words of penitence and self-reproach which my husband had addressed to me on our way home. So far I could advance toward realizing my position and no further.
"Well, I didn't believe there was any real harm in her," said Gabriella, in a tone she might have used at one of her mother-in-law's luncheons. She was still standing near the door, in the very spot where she had paused at her entrance, with her head held high above the black fur at her throat, and one gloved hand playing with a bit of cord on the end of her muff.
Nothing is more unbearable than emotion when one does not share it. I murmured "Mother!" feeling that after all she must appreciate such an outburst; then approaching, I kissed her, and made a face in spite of myself such a salt and disagreeable flavor had been imparted to my mother-in-law's countenance by the tears she had shed.
Was ever a woman more plainly warned, more carefully advised, than I? And yet warning and advice were both thrown away on me. Let me say for myself that I was really touched by the kindness of my mother-in-law's letter, though I was not shaken by it in the smallest degree.
"At last," thought he, "I have a clue that may lead me to the truth. What kind of man is he?" he asked with intense anxiety. "Oh! he is not at all like the other men who come to drink at my mother-in-law's shop. I have only seen him once; but I remember him perfectly. It was on a Sunday. He was in a cab. He stopped at the corner of the waste ground and spoke to Polyte.
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