TAILIEUCHUNG - THE VALLEY OF THE MOON JACK LONDON BOOK 2 CHAPTER 11

THE VALLEY OF THE MOON JACK LONDON BOOK 2 CHAPTER 11 Đây là một tác phẩm anh ngữ nổi tiếng với những từ vựng nâng cao chuyên ngành văn chương. Nhằm giúp các bạn yêu thich tiếng anh luyện tập và củng cố thêm kỹ năng đọc tiếng anh . | THE VALLEY OF THE MOON JACK LONDON BOOK 2 CHAPTER 11 With Billy on strike and away doing picket duty and with the departure of Mercedes and the death of Bert Saxon was left much to herself in a loneliness that even in one as healthy-minded as she could not fail to produce morbidness. Mary too had left having spoken vaguely of taking a job at housework in Piedmont. Billy could help Saxon little in her trouble. He dimly sansed her suffering without comprehending the scope and intensity of it. He was too man-practical and by his very sex too remote from the intimate tragedy that was hers. He was an outsider at the best a friendly onlooker who saw little. To her the baby had been quick and real. It was still quick and real. That was her trouble. By no deliberate effort of will could she fill the achiiig void of its absence. Its reality became at times an hallucination. Somewhere it still was and she must find it. She would catch herself on occasion listening with strained ears for the cry she had never heard yet which in fancy she had heard a thousand times in the happy months before the end. Twice she left her bed in her sleep and went searching-each time coming to herself beside her mother s chest of drawers in which were the tiny garments. To herself at such moments she would say I had a baby once. And she would say it aloud as she watched the children playing in the street. One day on the Eighth street cars a young mother sat beside her a crowing infant in her arms. And Saxon said to her I had a baby once. It died. The mother looked at her startled half-drew the baby tighter in her arms jealously or as if in fear then she softened as she said You poor thing. Yes Saxon nodded. It died. Tear s welled into her eyes and the telling of her grief seemed to have brought relief. But all the day she suffered from an almost overwhelming desire to recite her sorrow to the world--to the paying teller at the bank to the elderly floor-walker in Salinger s to the blind woman .

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