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Updated: June 18, 2025
There lay a silence between them that took on the roar of a simoon and Miss Samstag jumped then from her mother's embrace, her little face stiff with the clench of her mouth. "Mamma you No no! Oh, mamma oh !" A quick spout of hysteria seemed to half strangle Mrs. Samstag so that she slanted backward, holding her throat. "I knew it. My own child against me. O God! Why was I born?
Samstag at just after ten that evening turned the knob of the door that entered into her little sitting room. The usual horrific hotel room of tight green-plush upholstery, ornamental portières on brass rings that grated, and the equidistant French engravings of lavish scrollwork and scroll frames.
Samstag had learned to fear began to roll over her in waves, locking her throat and curling her toes and fingers and her tongue up dry against the roof of her mouth. She must concentrate now must steer her mind away from the craving! Now then: West End Avenue. Louis liked the apartments there. Luxurious. Quiet. Residential. Circassian walnut or mahogany dining room? Alma should decide.
"You shouldn't have remained down so long if your head is hurting," said her daughter, and quite casually took up her mother's beaded hand bag where it had fallen in her lap, but her fingers feeling lightly and furtively as if for the shape of its contents. "Stop that," said Mrs. Samstag, jerking it back, a dull anger in her voice. "Come to bed, mamma.
It was finally after more tortuous saving of floor creaks and the interminable opening and closing of a door that Carrie Samstag, the beaded bag in her hand, found herself face to face with herself in the mirror of the bathroom medicine chest. She was shuddering with one of the hot chills.
A white flash of something that was almost fear seemed to strike Mrs. Samstag into a rigid pallor. "No! No! I'm not like most mothers, Louis, for marrying their daughters off. I want her with me. If marrying her off is your idea, it's best you know it now in the beginning. I want my little girl with me I have to have my little girl with me!"
Miss Samstag's voice thickened up then quite frantically into a little scream that knotted in her throat, and she was suddenly so small and stricken that, with a gasp for fear she might crumple up where she stood, Mrs. Samstag leaned forward, catching her again by the sash. "Alma!" It was only for an instant, however.
She awoke to the brief patch of sunlight that smiled into their apartment for about eight minutes of each forenoon. Alma was at the pretty chore of lifting the trays from a hamper of roses. She places a shower of them on her mother's coverlet with a kiss, a deeper and dearer one somehow, this morning. There was a card and Mrs. Samstag read it and laughed: Good morning, Carrie. Louis.
Samstag looked off, her profile inclined to lift and fall as if by little pulleys of emotion. "That's easier said than done, Mr. Latz, by a widow who wants to do right by her grown daughter and living so high since the war." "I I " said Mr.
He sells goods to Doctor Gronauer's clinic and he says the same thing about him. It makes me so happy, Alma, to think you won't have to hold him off any more." "I'll never leave you. Never!" None the less she was the first to drop off to sleep, pink, there in the dark, with the secret of her blushes. Then for Mrs. Samstag the travail set in.
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