Iowedtothiswomanmostofthegoodthatevercamemywayinmyboyhood, , myaunt, aftercookingthethreemeals — thefirstofwhichwasreadyatsixo’clockinthemorning —andputtingthesixchildrentobed, wouldoftenstanduntilmidnightatherironingboard, withmeatthekitchentablebesideher, hearingmereciteLatindeclensionsandconjugations, , atherironingormending, thatIreadmyfirstShakespeare, , too — onthelittleparlororgan, whichherhusbandhadboughtherafterfifteenyears, duringwhichshehadnotsomuchasseenanyinstrument, , darningandcountingwhileIstruggledwiththe “JoyousFarmer”, butsheseldomtalkedtomeaboutmusic, ; shehadtheconsolationsofreligionand, toheratleast, “Euryanthe” Ihadfoundamonghermusicbooks, shecameuptomeand, puttingherhandsovermyeyes, gentlydrewmyheadbackuponhershoulder, sayingtremulously, “Don’tloveitsowell, Clark, , dearboy, praythatwhateveryoursacrificemaybe, itbenotthat.”
