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I walked from there to here; then I says: 'Why, what did he die of? Nobody spoke; it was as if every one were seeing the woman who had sat there the morning before. I thought I might--need help. I got Harry in, and we went upstairs. Just go on now with the rest of the story. It looked--" He stopped, his face twitching. He said it businesslike, and she stopped pleatin' at her apron. So Harry went fast as he could over to High Road--the Rivers' place, where there's a telephone.
I got a feeling that I ought to make some conversation, so I said I had come in to see if John wanted to put in a telephone; and at that she started to laugh, and then she stopped and looked at me--scared. Soon Harry got back, and then Dr. Lloyd came, and you, Mr. Peters, and so I guess that's all I know that you don't. Everyone moved a little. The county attorney walked toward the stair door.
The county attorney was looking at the cupboard--a peculiar, ungainly structure, half closet and half cupboard, the upper part of it being built in the wall, and the lower part just the old-fashioned kitchen cupboard. As if its queerness attracted him, he got a chair and opened the upper part and looked in. After a moment he drew his hand away sticky. The two women had drawn nearer, and now the sheriff's wife spoke. Hale for sympathetic understanding. She turned back to the county attorney and explained: "She worried about that when it turned so cold last night. She said the fire would go out and her jars might burst.
Peters' husband broke into a laugh. Held for murder, and worrying about her preserves!
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Hale's husband, with good-natured superiority, "women are used to worrying over trifles. Neither of them spoke. The county attorney seemed suddenly to remember his manners--and think of his future. He went to the sink and began washing his hands. He turned to wipe them on the roller towel--whirled it for a cleaner place. Hale stiffly.
And yet"--with a little bow to her--'I know there are some Dickson County farm-houses that do not have such roller towels. Men's hands aren't always as clean as they might be. He stopped and gave her a keen look, "But you and Mrs. Wright were neighbors. I suppose you were friends, too. I've not been in this house--it's more than a year. You didn't like her? And then--" She looked around the kitchen.soilstones.com/wp-content/2020-07-21/3160.php
Reasons for Impeachment, Beyond the Mueller Report - The Atlantic
I shouldn't say she had the home-making instinct. As she turned a lit- tle away from him, she added: "But I don't think a place would be any the cheerfuller for John Wright's bein' in it. Hale," he said. Peters does'll be all right? We left in such a hurry yesterday. Peters," he said, his glance resting on the woman who was not Mrs. Peters, the big farmer woman who stood behind the sheriff's wife. Peters is one of us," he said, in a manner of entrusting responsibility. Peters, for anything that might be of use.
No telling; you women might come upon a clue to the motive--and that's the thing we need. Hale rubbed his face after the fashion of a showman getting ready for a pleasantry. The women stood motionless and silent, listening to the footsteps, first upon the stairs, then in the room above them. Then, as if releasing herself from something strange. Hale began to arrange the dirty pans under the sink, which the county attorney's disdainful push of the foot had deranged. Hale bluffly; "but I guess that deputy sheriff that come out to make the fire might have got a little of this on.
Seems mean to talk about her for not having things slicked up, when she had to come away in such a hurry. Certainly it was not "slicked up.
The cover was off the wooden bucket, and beside it was a paper bag--half full. HaIe moved toward it. She thought of the flour in her kitchen at home--half sifted, half not sifted. She had been interrupted, and had left things half done. What had interrupted Minnie Foster? Why had that work been left half done?
All of the Impeachable Offenses
She made a move as if to finish it,--unfinished things always bothered her,--and then she glanced around and saw that Mrs. Peters was watching her--and she didn't want Mrs. Peters to get that feeling she had got of work begun and then--for some reason--not finished. She held it toward the light. I remember the afternoon I put up my cherries last summer.
She set the bottle on the table, and, with another sigh, started to sit down in the rocker. But she did not sit down. Something kept her from sitting down in that chair. She straightened--stepped back, and, half turned away, stood looking at it, seeing the woman who had sat there "pleatin' at her apron. Peters, dropping the things on the table and hurrying to the stove.
Hale stood examining the clothes the woman who was being detained in town had said she wanted. I s'pose she felt she couldn't do her part; and then, you don't enjoy things when you feel shabby. She used to wear pretty clothes and be lively--when she was Minnie Foster, one of the town girls, singing in the choir. But that--oh, that was twenty years ago. She looked up at Mrs. Peters, and there was something in the other woman's look that irritated her. She had that shrinking manner, and yet her eyes looked as if they could see a long way into things. Funny thing to want, " she ventured in her nervous little way, "for there's not much to get you dirty in jail, goodness knows.
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But I suppose just to make her feel more natural. If you're used to wearing an apron She said they were in the bottom drawer of this cupboard. Yes--here they are. And then her little shawl that always hung on the stair door. Suddenly Mrs.
Hale took a quick step toward the other woman, "Mrs. Peters' eyes. Hale stoutly. Worryin' about her fruit.
I'm Just Starting: A Reluctant Criminal's High Road to County Jail
Peters says Peters says--it looks bad for her. Henderson is awful sarcastic in a speech, and he's going to make fun of her saying she didn't--wake up. Hale had no answer.