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No, I dont. Sure, Tiffanys, Billy said. It sounded nice. "How rapidly do you read?" Miss Hanks asked a young girl. Yes. Want to see it? Elizabeth Emmett was born in Rhode Island, in a Victorian home newly built by her English immigrant father. She came into a world made brilliant by the fall colors of New Englands flowering: 1883 was a year after Emerson and Longfellow died; nine years before Whitman and Whittier would follow; the heyday of William James, and the last decade of Oliver Wendell Holmes. Among the treasures of her past. Miss Emmett appears to value equally her mother’s Mayflower descent and her father’s English edition, three-volume, illustrated Shakespeare which, she says, I still enjoy reading from more than any other copies. I asked my father one day what happened when people got pot-bellied. Monica twitched and quivered. She said to Mike,Let nobody touch me. Let nobody drink out of my cup or use my spoon. I am sick. And where you boys have killed your hundreds, in one month I have killed three hundred generations of the enemy—them, their wives, their sweethearts and their children. Understand? This is a house that could not be paid for in pennies, he said, half into the well, half toward the wallowing pig, very little for Herminias ear. I sat savoring my egg the next morning, letting my thoughts slip in and out of my mind to the rhythm of my jaws. What a funny dream to have, to talk with a silver-voiced someone. To talk about the way blowing clouds and windy moonlight felt. But it wasnt a dream! I paused with my fork raised. At least not my dream. But how can you tell? If you’re part of someone else’s dream, can it still be real for you? The sun was hot, but as they neared the beach there began to be a breeze and she could smell the sea. She began to feel as she had the very first time she had seen it. She had been born in Ohio and she was twelve before she had taken a trip and come out on the wide, flat, sunny sands and smelled this smell. What I dont understand, Amity said, is why he bothered writing another note after already trying once to kill me. There doesn’t seem to be any sense in that.” Well—thats your problem. Just remember. I want this flag pole to be solid. It’s got to stand at least— After a restless waking, dozing sort of night that strange sleeping places held for me, I awoke to a thin, chilly morning and the sound of Mrs. Klevity moving around. She had set the table for breakfast, a formality we never had time for at home. I scrambled out of bed and into my clothes with only my skinny, goosefleshed back between Mrs. Klevity and me for modesty. I felt uncomfortable and unfinished because I hadnt brought our comb over with me. The emotional biases a culture induces in its citizens vary widely. Mores is a matter of cultural relativity..
