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Chapter 8
"Let’emcome,"shesaid."Wegota’plenty.Tell’emtheygottowashtheirhan’s.Thebreadisdone.I’mjus’takin’uptheside-meatnow."Andthesizzleoftheangrygreasecamefromthestove.
Pasteppedinside,clearingthedoor,andTomlookedinathismother.Shewasliftingthecurlingslicesofporkfromthefryingpan.Theovendoorwasopen,andagreatpanofhighbrownbiscuitsstoodwaitingthere.Shelookedoutthedoor,butthesunwasbehindTom,andshesawonlyadarkfigureoutlinedbythebrightyellowsunlight.Shenoddedpleasantly."Comein,"shesaid."Jus’luckyImadeplentybreadthismorning."
Tomstoodlookingin.Mawasheavy,butnotfat;thickwithchild-bearingandwork.SheworealooseMotherHubbardofgrayclothinwhichtherehadoncebeencoloredflowers,butthecolorwaswashedoutnow,sothatthesmallfloweredpatternwasonlyalittlelightergraythanthebackground.Thedresscamedowntoherankles,andherstrong,broad,barefeetmovedquicklyanddeftlyoverthefloor.Herthin,steel-grayhairwasgatheredinasparsewispyknotatthebackofherhead.Strong,freckledarmswerebaretotheelbow,andherhandswerechubbyanddelicate,likethoseofaplumplittlegirl.Shelookedoutintothesunshine.Herfullfacewasnotsoft;itwascontrolled,kindly.Herhazeleyesseemedtohaveexperiencedallpossibletragedyandtohavemountedpainandsufferinglikestepsintoahighcalmandasuperhumanunderstanding.
