d’oeuvre made from a piece of silk she had at home.
Mrs. Pullet screwed up her mouth and shook her head, and then whispered, “Pullet pays for it; he said I was to have the best bonnet at Garum Church,Tyson Jost Tröjor, let the next best be whose it would.”
She began slowly to adjust the trimmings,Ralph Lauren byxor, in preparation for returning it to its place in the wardrobe, and her thoughts seemed to have taken a melancholy turn, for she shook her head.
“Ah,” she said at last, “I may never wear it twice,CG Dame Solaris Parka, sister; who knows?”
“Don’t talk o’ that sister,NHL Mens Colorado Avalanche Black Camo Stack Pullover Hoodie,” answered Mrs. Tulliver. “I hope you’ll have your health this summer.”
“Ah! but there may come a death in the family,Moncler Barn Jakke, as there did soon after I had my green satin bonnet. Cousin Abbott may go, and we can’t think o’ wearing crape less nor half a year for him.”
“That would be unlucky,” said Mrs. Tulliver,Tomas Hertl Tröjor, entering thoroughly into the possibility of an inopportune decease. “There’s never so much pleasure i’ wearing a bonnet the second year,Marc-Edouard Vlasic Tröjor, especially when the crowns are so chancy — never two summers alike.”
“Ah, it’s the way i’ this world,” said Mrs. Pullet, returning the bonnet to the wardrobe and locking it up. She maintained a silence characterized by head-shaking, until they had all issued from the solemn chamber and were in her own room again. Then, beginning to cry, she said, “Sister,Teemu Pulkkinen Tröjor, if you should never see that bonnet again till I’m dead and gone, you’ll remember I showed it you this day.”
Mrs. Tulliver felt that she ought to be affected, but she was a woman of sparse tears, stout and healthy; she couldn’t cry so much as her sister Pullet did, and had often felt her deficiency at funerals. Her effort to bring tears into her eyes issued in an odd contraction of her face. Maggie, looking on attentively, felt that there was some painful mystery about her aunt’s bonnet which she was considered too young to understand; indignantly conscious, all the while,Phil Kessel Tröjor, that she could have understood that, as well as everything else, if she had been taken into confidence.
When they went down, uncle Pullet observed,Justin Schultz Tröjor, with some acumen, that he reckoned the missis had been showing her bonnet — that was what had made them so long upstairs. With Tom the interval had seemed still longer, for he had been seated in irksome constraint on the edge of a sofa directly opposite his uncle Pullet, who regarded him with twinkling gray eyes, and occasionally addressed him as “Young sir.”
“Well, young sir, what do you learn at school?” was a standing question with uncle Pullet; whereupon Tom always looked sheepish, rubbed his hands across his face, and answered, “I don’t know.” It was altogether so embarrassing to be seated tete-a-tete with uncle Pullet, that Tom could not even look at the prints on the walls,Canada Goose Barn/Bebis, or the flycages,Nicklas Backstrom Tröjor, or the wonderful flower-pots; he saw nothing but his uncle’s gaiters. Not that Tom was in awe of his uncle’s mental superiority; indeed, he had made up his mind that he didn’t want to be a ge
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