Bliss, and Other Stories

f dress that smelt under the arms, a white apron like a large sheet of paper, and a lace bow pinned on to her hair with two jetty pins. Also

jig as the water bubbled. The clock ticked in the warm air, slow and deliberate, like the click of an old woman's knittin

ad a lump of butter on the table, a barracouta

rty, greasy little book, half unstitched, with cur

ar, either father, husband, brother, son, or intended. If beetles crawl backwards as you watch

near future. Should party be in family way an easy confinement may be expected. But car

housand bi

to the table, and the first thing her eye lighted on were those greasy edges. Alice saw Miss Beryl's meaning little smile and the way she raised her eyebrows and screwed up her eyes

hem and the turning of them over and over in her mind comforted her just as much as if they'd been expressed. Really, they kept her alive in places where she

little doyleys under the plates-will you? You did yesterday, you know, and the tea looked so ugly and common. And, Alice, don't put that dreadful old pink and green cosy on the afternoon

yl had f

oud from eve

itchen, very pleased with

curl up inside, as you might say, and she fair trembled. But what Alice really hated Miss Beryl for was that she made her feel low. She talked to Alice in a special voice as though s

the scones, "I'd rather not take my orders from Miss Beryl. I may be onl

her so much that she qu

oom door, "is to cut the sleeves out entirely and just have a