United States or Rwanda ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
As the supper progressed, Laramie watched almost in awe the short-arm jabs she gave the meat on the broiler. The cuffs of her shirtwaist, half back to her elbows, revealed white arms tapering to wrists molded like the ankles, and hands that his eyes fed on as a miser's feed on gold.
It was blowing in wild disarray. A sudden stretch of stately old houses sitting well back on either side of the street, partly hidden by double rows of trees, caused her fresh doubts as to the fitness of her attire. In her shirtwaist and skirt she felt like an intruder. A man from the sidewalk bowed to them. So busy was she with her hat that she could not see who it was.
Instead she told herself that the amazingly and unbelievably handsome young man bending over her with a stethoscope was a doctor; that the plump, bleached blonde in the white shirtwaist was the hotel housekeeper; that the lank ditto was a waitress; and that the expression on the face of each was that of apprehension, tinged with a pleasurable excitement.
The shoes he always looked first at a woman's shoes and lost interest in her if those were not acceptable were of tan leather and low, with decently high heels. So far he approved. She wore a tailored suit of blue and had removed the jacket. The shirtwaist he knew they were called "lingerie waists" in the windows was of creamy softness and had the lines of the thing called "style."
She seemed still young, but poverty had marked her with unmistakable signs. The white, blue-veined hands that clung to the railing of the pew were thin; and the shirtwaist, though clean, was cheap and frayed. At last she rose from her knees and raised a tear-stained face to his, staring at him in a dumb bewilderment. "Can I do anything for you?" he said gently, "I am the rector here."
It would only take a moment to open it and sweep her toilet articles into it from the top of her dresser. She had just taken a fresh shirtwaist out of the drawer when there was a light, determined rap at the door. When she opened it, she was much astonished to see Aunt Francesca come in, dressed for a drive. "Are you almost ready, Isabel?" she asked, politely. "Ready," gasped the girl. "For what?"
He flopped shut his book, snapping a rubber band about it and inserting it in an inner coat pocket. "You ought to stick to them dark, winy shades, Mrs. C. With your coloring and black hair and eyes, they bring you out like a Gipsy. Never seen you look better than at the Y. M. H. A. entertainment." Quick color flowed down her open throat and into her shirtwaist.
Going into the bedroom, Gabriella changed from her shirtwaist into a gown of flowered muslin, with sleeves that looked small beside the balloon ones of the season, and a skirt which was shrunken and pale from many washings the summer before.
He looked long and silently at Miss Gussie Fink at the sane, simple, wholesomeness of her, at her clear brown eyes, at her white forehead from which the shining hair sprang away in such a delicate line, at her immaculately white shirtwaist, and her smooth, snug-fitting collar that came up to the lobes of her little pink ears, at her creamy skin, at her trim belt.
The woman against whose knees boy and dog were pressed in the crowded space was breathing fast. The crimson, sleazy shirtwaist rose and fell. Her face, in spite of the red spots, was pasty, as if she might faint. The men looked up and down the road, nodded grimly at each other, and the car started with a jerk. The scream of Tommy broke the terrible silence. "That ain't the way! That ain't !"
Word Of The Day