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Updated: June 18, 2025
You deserve it, Carrie. Will you say yes?" "My daughter, Loo. She's only eighteen, but she's my shadow I lean on her so." "A sweet, dutiful girl like Alma would be the last to stand in her mother's light." "But remember, Louis, you're marrying a little family." "That don't scare me." "She's my only. We're different natured. Alma's a Samstag through and through. Quiet, reserved.
Samstag showed most plainly whatever inroads into her clay the years might have gained. There were little dark areas beneath them like smeared charcoal, and two unrelenting sacs that threatened to become pouchy. Their effect was not so much one of years, but they gave Mrs. Samstag, in spite of the only slightly plump and really passable figure, the look of one out of health.
She's got to be a fine girl to have you for a mother, and now it will be my duty to please her as a father. Carrie, will you have me?" "Oh, Louis Loo!" "Carrie, my dear!" And so it was that Carrie Samstag and Louis Latz came into their betrothal. None the less, it was with some misgivings and red lights burning high on her cheek bones that Mrs.
I know a thing or two about those fellows over there. Some of them are wonders." Mrs. 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 a widow who wants to do right by her grown daughter and living so high since the war." "I I " said Mr.
"Mother and daughter, but which is which from the back, some of my friends put it," said Mrs. Samstag, not without a curve to her voice; then, hastily: "But the best child, Mr. Latz. The best that ever lived. A regular little mother to me in my spells." "Nice girl, Alma." "It snowed so the day of my husband's funeral. Why, do you know that up to then I never had an attack of neuralgia in my life.
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.
Women of her kind of sallowness can be found daily in fashionable physicians' outer offices, awaiting X-ray appointments. What ailed Mrs. Samstag was hardly organic. She was the victim of periodic and raging neuralgic fires that could sweep the right side of her head and down into her shoulder blade with a great crackling and blazing of nerves.
You deserve it, Carrie. Will you say yes?" "My daughter, Loo. She's only eighteen, but she's my shadow I lean on her so." "A sweet, dutiful girl like Alma would be the last to stand in her mother's light." "She's my only. We're different natured. Alma's a Samstag through and through, quiet, reserved. But she's my all, Louis.
Samstag, with that dreadful dew of her sweat constantly out over her, lay with her twisted lips to the faint perfume of that fan of Alma's flowing hair her toes curling in and out. Out and in. Toward morning she slept. Actually, sweetly and deeply as if she could never have done with deep draughts of it.
Suddenly Miss Samstag was her coolly firm little self, the bang of authority back in her voice. "You can't marry Louis Latz." "Can't I? Watch me." "You can't do that to a nice, deserving fellow like him!" "Do what?" "That!" Then Mrs. Samstag threw up both her hands to her face, rocking in an agony of self-abandon that was rather horrid to behold. "O God! why don't you put me out of it all?
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