Prose
An Excerpt from |
He took out a pile of shirts and began throwing them one by one before us, shirts of sheer linen and thick silk and fine flannel which lost their folds as they fell and covered the table in many-colored disarray. While we admired, the soft rich heap mounted higher — shirts with stripes and scrolls and plaids in coral and apple green and lavender and faint orange with monograms of Indian blue. Suddenly with a strained sound Daisy bent her head into the shirts and began to cry stormily. “They’re
such beautiful shirts,” she sobbed, her voice muffled in the thick
folds. “It makes me sad because I’ve never seen such
— such beautiful shirts before.” |
Blue indicates words taken or modifed from “The Eve of St. Agnes” |
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