The winter darkness
had settled down before she returned, all glowing and rosy,
and bright-eyed. Her blood was racing through her body.
Her lips were parted. The drudgery of the past three weeks
seemed to have been blotted out by this one radiant
afternoon.
The house was dark when she entered. It seemed very quiet,
and close, and depressing after the sparkle and rush of the
afternoon on the river. "Mother! Mother dear! Still
sleeping?"
Mrs. Brandeis stirred, sighed, awoke. Fanny flicked on the
light. Her mother was huddled in a kimono on the sofa.
She sat up rather dazedly now, and stared at Fanny.
"Why--what time is it? What? Have I been sleeping all
afternoon? Your mother's getting old."
She yawned, and in the midst of it caught her breath with a
little cry of pain.
"What is it? What's the matter?"
Molly Brandeis pressed a hand to her breast. "A stitch, I
guess. It's this miserable cold coming on. Is there any
asperin in the house? I'll dose myself after supper, and
take a hot foot bath and go to bed.
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