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The excerpt represents the core issue or deciding factor on which you must meditate, and is drawn from My Antonia by Willa Cather: about her teeth, for instance. I know so many women who have kept
all the things that she had lost, but whose inner glow has faded.
Whatever else was gone, Antonia had not lost the fire of life.
Her skin, so brown and hardened, had not that look of flabbiness,
as if the sap beneath it had been secretly drawn away.
While we were talking, the little boy whom they called Jan came in and
sat down on the step beside Nina, under the hood of the stairway.
He wore a funny long gingham apron, like a smock, over his trousers,
and his hair was clipped so short that his head looked white and naked.
He watched us out of his big, sorrowful grey eyes.
`He wants to tell you about the dog, mother. They found it dead,'
My Antonia |
