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Updated: June 20, 2025
I seed you, you know, down dere where you live; but I did n' let on, fer you an' Mis' Rena wuz w'ite as anybody; an' eve'ybody said you wuz good ter cullud folks, an' he'ped 'em in deir lawsuits an' one way er 'nuther, an' I wuz jes' plum' glad ter see you gettin' 'long so fine, dat I wuz, certain sho', an' no mistake about it."
His visit had brought joy to his mother's heart, and was now to bring its shrouded companion, sorrow. His mother had lived her life, for good or ill. A wider door was open to his sister her mother must not bar the entrance. "She may go," the mother repeated sadly, drying her tears. "I'll give her up for her good." "The table 's ready, mamma," said Rena, coming to the door.
There is more venom, mortal, inevitable, in a single word, sometimes, or in the gliding entrance of a wordless thought than ever "vanti Libia con sua rena." But that horror is of the myth, not of the creature. There are myriads lower than this, and more loathsome, in the scale of being; the links between dead matter and animation drift everywhere unseen.
She held the flower to her face with a long-drawn inhalation, then went up the steps, crossed the piazza, opened the door without knocking, and entered the house with the air of one thoroughly at home. "Yes," said the young man to himself, "it's Rena, sure enough."
Consequently, having been driven into a cul-de-sac, as a result of flagrant and unfounded boasting, he was ready to take advantage of what appeared to be a triumphal way out. "Roddy," said Penrod again, with solemnity, "is Rena Magsworth some relation of yours?" "IS she, Roddy?" asked Sam, almost hoarsely. "She's my aunt!" shouted Roddy. Silence followed.
Frank himself resisted the temptation for half an hour after the music began, but at length he made his way across the street and stationed himself at the window opening upon the back piazza. When Rena was in the room, he had eyes for her only, but when she was absent, he fixed his attention mainly upon Wain.
Rena unfolded herself from the divan and slid to her feet, slim as a sibyl. "I knew it!" "Knew what?" "He's coming!" "Coming? What?" "He left Cincinnati last night and gets here this morning." "This morning!" "He comes on business, he says. And at five o'clock he stops in at the store and comes home to supper with papa." "Supper and a regular wash-day meal I got!
At Cook Street, which runs into Grand Avenue like a small tributary, a pall of smoke descended thick as a veil; and every morning, from off her second-story window-sills, Mrs. Shongut swept tiny dancing balls of soot; and one day Miss Rena Shongut's neat rim of tenderly tended geraniums died of suffocation.
He switched it in again with the words, "Now, get ready, Tom. Just one more; then we must hurry around in that car of ours and watch the fun." This time he was talking into the microphone. In a most solemn, sepulchral voice he repeated, "Let the slayer of Rena Taylor beware. She will be avenged! Beware! It will be a life for a life!" Three times he repeated it, to make sure that it would carry.
"God made us all," continued Rena dreamily, "and for some good purpose, though we may not always see it. He made some people white, and strong, and masterful, and heartless. He made others black and homely, and poor and weak" "And a lot of others 'poor white' and shiftless," smiled Warwick. "He made us, too," continued Rena, intent upon her own thought, "and He must have had a reason for it.
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