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the obvious child

she had vented some phase of drunken fury upon the lambrequin. it lay in a bedraggled heap in the corner.

when pete arrived, maggie, in a worn black dress, was waiting for him in the midst of a floor strewn with wreckage. the curtain at the window had been pulled by a heavy hand and hung by one tack, dangling to and fro in the draft through the cracks at the sash. the knots of blue ribbons appeared like violated flowers. the fire in the stove had gone out.

"hah," she snorted, sitting up suddenly, "where deh hell yeh been? why deh hell don' yeh come home earlier? been loafin' 'round deh streets. yer gettin' teh be a reg'lar devil."

still, they were not all of this temper. had they been, they would have discovered, not merely a little, but absolutely nothing. for after all, if we will consider, induction being the right path to knowledge, every man, whether he knows it or not, uses induction, more or less, by the mere fact of his having a human reason, and knowing anything at all; as m. jourdain talked prose all his life without being aware of it.

the women after dinner were curious to know how i had endured the winter, cut off from everybody and snowed up sometimes for weeks.

"you know, my dears, i had to give up the church. i just simply didn't believe any more in orthodox church teaching. and i feel i've never explained that properly to you. not at all clearly. i want to explain that now."

"my son is perfectly happy," his mother said everywhere.

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wabbit season
jones_casey
cleaning up so well

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