WillaCather
Ireceivedonemorningaletter, writteninpaleinkonglassy, blue-linednotepaper, , wornandrubbed, lookingasthoughithadbeencarriedforsomedaysinacoatpocketthatwasnonetooclean, wasfrommyUncleHowardandinformedmethathiswifehadbeenleftasmalllegacybyabachelorrelativewhohadrecentlydied, , hadIbeenawayfromhomeforaday, Imusthavemissedthegoodwomanaltogether.
ThenameofmyAuntGeorgianacalledupnotaloneherownfigure, atoncepatheticandgrotesque, butopenedbeforemyfeetagulfofrecollectionsowideanddeepthat, astheletterdroppedfrommyhand, Ifeltsuddenlyastrangertoallthepresentconditionsofmyexistence, , inshort, theganglingfarmboymyaunthadknown, scourgedwithchilblainsandbashfulness, , , fumblingthescaleswithmystiff, redhands, whileshe, besideme, madecanvasmittensforthehuskers.
Thenextmorning, afterpreparingmylandladysomewhat, , ; herlinendusterhadbecomeblackwithsoot, andherblackbonnetgraywithdust, .
