"
Celestina began to rock nervously.
Being of New England fiber, and classing as morbid all forms of
introspection, she always so dreaded to have the conversation drift
into a reflective channel that whenever she found Willie indulging in
reveries she was wont to rout him out of them, tartly reproaching
herself for having even indirectly been the cause of stirrin' him up.
"Next time I'll set the chowder back on the stove an' say nothin'," she
would vow inwardly. "I'd much better have waited 'til his dream was
over an' done with. S'pose I am put out a bit--'twon't hurt me. If I
don't care enough for Willie to do somethin' for him once in a while,
good as he's always been to me, I'd oughter be ashamed of myself."
Hence it is easily seen that neither to Wilton in general nor to
Celestina in particular was Willie Spence a trial.
No, it was to himself that Willie was the torment. "I plague myself
'most to death, Tiny," he would not infrequently confess when the two
sat together at dusk in the little room that looked out on the reach of
blue sea.
Pages:
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25