|
The excerpt represents the core issue or deciding factor on which you must meditate, and is drawn from Life in the Iron-Mills by Rebecca Davis: pieces, and a check for an incredible amount, as it seemed to
the poor puddler. He laid it down, hiding his face again in his
hands.
"Hugh, don't be angry wud me! It's only poor Deb,--hur knows?"
He took the long skinny fingers kindly in his.
"Angry? God help me, no! Let me sleep. I am tired."
He threw himself heavily down on the wooden bench, stunned with
pain and weariness. She brought some old rags to cover him.
It was late on Sunday evening before he awoke. I tell God's
truth, when I say he had then no thought of keeping this money.
Deborah had hid it in his pocket. He found it there. She
Life in the Iron-Mills | 
