Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: June 11, 2025
Eleanor Hubert's invited, and three or four other society girls. I don't see why we need to be such a lot more particular than other people. We never are when it's a question of people being dirty, or horrid, other ways! How about Cousin Parnelia and Mr. Reinhardt? I guess the Fiskes would laugh at the idea of people who have as many queer folks around as we do, thinking they aren't good enough."
The little heart-shaped piece of wood spiritualists use, with a pencil fast to it, to take down their silly 'messages, Some spiritualistic fake was visiting town conducting séances and he claimed he'd discovered some sort of method for inducing greater receptivity or something like that. I don't know anything about spiritualism but little tags I've picked up from hearing Cousin Parnelia talk.
Sylvia followed with her father, at the last extremity of agitation and perplexity. When Cousin Parnelia reached the dining-room table, she sat down by it, pushed the cloth to one side, and produced a fresh sheet of yellow paper from her shabby bag. "Put yourselves in a receptive frame of mind," she said in a glib, professional manner.
"Never mind, Cousin Parnelia," she said with a vague kindness, "I know you mean to do what's right only we don't believe as you do, and Father must not be excited!" She turned sick as she spoke and shrank away from the hedge, carrying her small old cousin with her. Above the hedge appeared her father's gray face and burning eyes.
And when it stopped, I lighted a match and see ... here ... in your mother's very handwriting" fervently she held the bit of paper up for Sylvia to see. The girl cast a hostile look at the paper and saw that the writing on it was the usual scrawl produced by Cousin Parnelia, hardly legible, and resembling anything rather than her mother's handwriting.
Mother gave up her chicken money she'd been putting by for some new rose-bushes, and she loves her roses too! Judith gave what she'd earned picking raspberries, and I oh, how I hated to do it! but I was ashamed not to I gave what I'd saved up for my autumn suit. Lawrence just stuck it out that he hated Cousin Parnelia and he wouldn't give a bit.
She spoke in a low tone as though not to break the charmed silence about them, and, upon his asking her for the incident, she went on, almost in a murmur: "It isn't a story you could possibly understand. You've never been poor. But I'll tell you if you like. I've talked to you such a lot about home and the queer people we know did I ever mention Cousin Parnelia?
Hecht and Cousin Parnelia and all." "The President comes," advanced Judith. Sylvia was sweeping in her iconoclasm. "What if he does old fish-mouth! He's nobody he's a rough-neck himself. He used to be a Baptist minister. He's only President because he can talk the hayseeds in the Legislature into giving the University big appropriations.
"When we went in, Mother's face was just as it always was, and we got Cousin Parnelia a cup of tea and gave her part of a boiled ham to take home and a dozen eggs and a loaf of graham bread, just as though nothing had happened." She stopped speaking. There was no sound at all but the delicate, forlorn whisper of the leaves. He spoke with a measured, emphatic, almost solemn accent.
I could see it in her face, like somebody in church. I felt it myself all over, like an E string that's been pulled too high, slipping down into tune when you turn the peg. But I didn't want to feel it. I wanted to hate Cousin Parnelia. I thought it was awfully hard in Mother not to want us to have even the satisfaction of hating Cousin Parnelia! I tried to go on doing it.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking