کارولین هیس "
8th hour, Monday Dear Daddy-Long-Legs,
I hope you aren't the Trustee who sat on the toad? It went off--I was told--with quite a pop, so probably he was a fatter Trustee.
Do you remember t
laundry رختشوی خانه، خشکشویی
spite لج، کینه، بغض
discouragement دلسردی ، یأس
دوشنبه زنگ هشتم
بابا لنگ دراز عزیز
امیدوارم که شما آن معتمد و امینی نباشید که روی قورباغه نشست
می گفتند قورباغه زیر آن آقا " بامبی" صدا کرد و ترکید. پس باید یکی خیلی چاق تر از شما بوده باشد
شاید یادتان باشد که در مؤسسه ی جان گریر ، نزدیک پنجره ی رختشوخانه سوراخهایی بود که رویش چوب های مشبک زده بودند، هر سال بهار که فصل قورباغه است تعداد بسیاری قورباغه جمع می کردیم و توی آن سوراخها می گذاشتیم . گاهی هم قورباغه ها می پریدند و توی رختشوخانه می افتادند و سرو صدا ایجاد می شد و به خاطر این کار ما چند مرتبه به شدت تنبیه شدیم
اما با این حال باز قورباغه ها را جمع می گردیم
نگارش این نامه دو هفته طول کشید. فکر می کنم به اندازه ی کافی طولانی باشد، دیگر نمی توانید فکر کنید که من همه چیز را نمی نویسم.
He has gone, and we are missing him! When you get accustomed to people or places or ways of living, and then have them snatched away, it does leave an awfully empty, gnawing sort of sensation. I'm finding Mrs. Semple's conversation pretty unseasoned food.
College opens in tow weeks and I shall be glad to begin work again. I have worked quite a lot this summer though--six short stories and seven poems. Those I sent to the magazines all came back with the most courteous promptitude. But I don't mind. It's good practice. Master Jervie read them--he brought in the post, so I couldn't help his knowing--and he said they were DREADFUL. They showed that I didn't have the slightest idea of what I was talking about. ( Master Jervie doesn't let politeness interfere with truth. ) But the last one I did--just a little sketch laid in college--he said wasn't bad; and he had it typewritten and I sent it to a magazine. They've had it two weeks; maybe they're thinking it over.
You should see the sky! There's the queerest orange-colored light over everything. We're going to have a storm.
It commenced just the moment with tremendously big drops and all the shutters banging. I had to run to close the windows, while Carrie flew to the attic with an armful of mike pans to put under the places where the roof leaks and then, just as I was resuming my pen, I remembered that I'd left a cushion and rug and hat and Matthew Arnold's poems under a tree in the orchard, so I dashed out to get them, all quite soaked. The red cover of the poems had run into the inside; Dover Beach the future will be washed by pink waves.
A Storm is awfully disturbing in the country. You are always having to think of so many things that are out of doors and getting spoiled.