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Updated: May 4, 2025
There was a gypsy leaning out of the doorway. Mrs. Sardotopolis stared at her. "Tell your fortune, missus," called the gypsy. Mrs. Sardotopolis nodded and entered the hallway. Her head felt dizzy. But there was nothing to do until tomorrow, when they buried Joe. With a curious thrill under her heavy bosom, Mrs. Sardotopolis held out her work-coarsened palm to the gypsy.
Her comfortable picture of a home was vanishing vanishing as suddenly and completely as a soap bubble vanishes, if pricked by a pin. "Why why, Bennie!" she began. But the child was not listening. He had darted from her side and was dragging forward, by one listless, work-coarsened hand, a pallid, drooping woman. "Dis is my ma," he told Rose-Marie.
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