They were bickering, she could tell by the way the mother threw her fat arms into the air and paced restlessly about the tiny clapboard house. They had scrubbed and dusted, torn down and hung up until noon. " "Irons—heavy irons—night and day. ” But after that neither ideas nor phrases had come and she had fallen thinking of the events of the day. The original passage, Martha had told her, had led only from an upstairs room to one downstairs. It came into her head with real emotional force that this must be some particularly fantastic sort of dream.
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