Death’s hand, heavy hand of disease

Death pp.140. “The sick woman spent the last few months of her life hungering for death. Along the road of death she went, seeking, hungering. She personified the figure of death and made him now a strong black-haired youth running over hills, now a stern quiet man marked and scarred by the business of living. In the darkness of her room she put out her hand, thrusting it from under the covers of her bed, and she thought that death like a living thing put out his hand to her. ‘Be patient, lover,’ she whispered. ‘Keep yourself young and beautiful and be patient.’

On the evening when disease laid its heavy hand upon her and defeated her plans for telling her son George of the eight hundred dollars hidden away, she got out of bed and crept half across the room pleading with death for another hour of life. ‘Wait, dear! The boy! The boy! The boy!’ she pleaded as she tried with all of her strength to fight off the arms of the lover she had wanted so earnestly.”

*

>Fighting off the arms of the lover she had wanted so earnestly… Reefy had also held her in his ‘arms’ in the preceding paragraphs. Also in those paragraphs they “sprang to their feet” (fearing discovery) recalling the feet at the opening of the story:

“The people who went up the stairway followed with their feet the feet of many who had gone before. The soft boards of the stairs had yielded under the pressure of feet and deep hollows marked the way.


%d bloggers like this: