They would take up other matters only for the sake of coming back to it
with sudden explosions of contemptuous mirth.
Happily, the one of us most liable to this ignominy remained unbelieving
to the bitter end; even did he pretend to a yawning sort of interest in
a book carelessly picked up. The Sullivans had been foiled at every
turn, and now we were relieved from the covert but not less pointed
insult of their presence.
Mrs. Delia, her morning's work done, came out dressed for church,
bidding me a briskly sad little "Good marnin', _Major!_" I responded
pleasantly, for in a way I liked Mrs. Sullivan, who came each day from
her bare little house under the hill to make a home for Solon and our
children. At least she was kind to them and kept them plump. That she
remained dismal under circumstances that seemed to me not to warrant it
was a detail of minor consequence. Terry Sullivan had been no good
husband to her. Beating her and the lesser Sullivans had been his
serious aim when in liquor and his diversion when out. But he fell from
a gracious scaffolding with a. bucket of azure paint one day and
fractured his stout neck, a thing which in the general opinion of Little
Arcady Heaven had meant to be consummated under more formal auspices.
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