“There she lay in the parlor, her face as calm as if she had never known the harshness of brutal guardians, the agony of poison, the terrible pangs of dissolution. Death had at last given her peace, the peace which passeth understanding.”
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“There she lay in the parlor, her face as calm as if she had never known the harshness of brutal guardians, the agony of poison, the terrible pangs of dissolution. Death had at last given her peace, the peace which passeth understanding.”
Lina started awake. A scream had roused her, a girl crying for her mother. She thought of her own daughter, who was ill, but the cry came again from outside the house and a horse and carriage clattered onto Barber’s Bridge.
December 11, 1899 dawned gray and cold, rain blowing in waves with the winds up Cherry Street. Agnes Willis spent the day at work as a “scrub woman,” or cleaner, before meeting up with Gilbert Farmer and returning with him to her tenement building at Cherry Court.
The moon was in the window. The bedroom swam silver in its light. Half-past eight o’clock on October 3, 1868, and Hannah Russell lay awake, her husband Perry beside her. He slept deeply and didn’t stir, though wind shook the roof-slates and rattled the shutters and somebody rapped at the side-door.