Famous descriptions

1.  A fat brown goose, lay at one end of the table and at the other end, on a bed of creased paper strewn with sprigs of parsley, lay a great ham, stripped of its outer skin and peppered over with crust crumbs, a neat paper frill round its shin and beside this was a round of spiced beef.  Between these rival ends ran parallel lines of side-dishes: two little minsters of jelly, red and yellow: a shallow dish full of blocks of blancmange and red jam, a large green leaf-shaped dish with a stalk-shaped handle, on which lay bunches of purple raisins and peeled almonds, a companion dish on which lay a solid rectangle of Smyrna figs, a dish of custard topped with grated nutmeg, a small bowl full of chocolates and sweets wrapped in gold and silver papers and a glass vase in which stood some tall celery stalks.  In the centre of the table there stood, as sentries to a fruit-stand which upheld a pyramid of oranges and American apples, two squat old-fashioned decanters of cut glass, one containing port and the other dark sherry. On the closed square piano a pudding in a huge yellow dish lay in waiting and behind it were three squads of bottles of stout and ale and minerals, drawn up according to the colours of their uniforms, the first two black, with brown and red labels, the third ad smallest squad white, with transverse green sashes.



2.  She doesn't mention that the next morning she picked up one of Gordon's cufflinks from his dresser. The cufflinks are made of amber and he bought them in Russia, on the holiday he and wife took when thy got back together again. They look like squares of candy, golden, translucent, and this one warms quickly in her hand.  She drops it into the pocket of her jacket.  Taking one is not a real theft.  It could be a reminder, and an intimate prank, a piece of nonsense.
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When she gets home she puts the cufflink in an old tobacco tin. The children bought this tobacco tin in a junk shop years ago, and gave it to here for a present.  She used to smoke, in those days, and the children were worried about her, so they gave her this tin full of toffees, jelly beans, and gumdrops, with a note saying, "Please get fat instead." That was for her birthday. Now the tin has in it several things besides the cufflink-- all small things, not of great value but not worthless, either.  A little enameled dish, a sterling-silver spoon for salt, a crystal fish.  These are not sentimental keepsakes.  She never looks at them, and often forgets what he has there. T hey are not booty, they don't have ritualistic significance.  she does not take something every time she goes to Gordon's hous, or every time she stays over, or to mark what she might call memorable visits.  She just takes something, every now and then, and puts it away in the dark of the old tobacco tin, and more or less forgets about it.


3. The lots are empty because no one builds on them.  It is the middle of the summer in the middle of the Depression. I am alone under a slow molasses sun, staring at the little chips of light flashing at my feet. Up and down the whole length of the street there is no one, not a single grownup, and certainly, in that sparse time, no other child.  There is only myself and these hypnotic semaphores signaling eeriness out of the ground.  But no, up the block a little way, a baby carriage is entrusted to the idle afternoon, with a baby left to sleep, all by itself, under white netting.


4.  One Sunday, sitting in the pew, watching flashes of spring lightning illuminate the robes of the angels on the stained glass windows, my mind began to drift.  I studied my gold sash upon which the tarnishing imprint of raindrops had dried into vague patterns-- it had begun to rain just as we marched in off the street.  There was a frayed edge to my sash and I wrapped a loose thread around my finger and gently tugged.  The fabric bunched and the thread continued to unwind until it seemed the entire sash might unravel. I pinched the thread and broke it off, then wound it back round my finger tightly enough to cut off my circulation.  When my fingertip turned white, I unwound the thread from my finger and weighted it on my open palm, fitting it along the various lines on my hand.  I opened my other palm and held my hands out to test if the balance between them was affected by the weight of the thread.  It wasn't. I placed the thread on my tongue and lit it rest there where its weight was more discern able. I half-expected a metallic taste of gold, but it tasted starchy like any other thread.  Against the pores of my tongue, I could feel it growing thicker with the saliva that was gathering in my mouth.  I swallowed both the saliva and the thread.