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Edith Wharton: Ethan Frome7. CHAPTER VII (continued)Zeena stood beside the ruin of her treasure, stiffening into a stony image of resentment, "You got down my pickle-dish-what for?" A bright flush flew to Mattie's cheeks. "I wanted to make the supper-table pretty," she said. "You wanted to make the supper-table pretty; and you waited till my back was turned, and took the thing I set most store by of anything I've got, and wouldn't never use it, not even when the minister come to dinner, or Aunt Martha Pierce come over from Bettsbridge-" Zeena paused with a gasp, as if terrified by her own evocation of the sacrilege. "You're a bad girl, Mattie Silver, and I always known it. It's the way your father begun, and I was warned of it when I took you, and I tried to keep my things where you couldn't get at 'em-and now you've took from me the one I cared for most of all-" She broke off in a short spasm of sobs that passed and left her more than ever like a shape of stone. "If I'd 'a' listened to folks, you'd 'a' gone before now, and this wouldn't 'a' happened," she said; and gathering up the bits of broken glass she went out of the room as if she carried a dead body... This is page 70 of 101. [Marked] This title is on Your Bookshelf. Buy a copy of Ethan Frome at Amazon.com
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