The Barbados Advocate, Thursday, January 19, 1995, page 4 MILDRED COLLYMORE told the No. 3 Supreme Court yesterday that when she recovered from an attack with a stone she found herself "washed-way" in blood.
Collymore said also that accused Philamena Hinds came back to move the rock but she would not let her.
Their new landlord was a handsome man. On his rounds to collect rent she became friendly. Finally, she asked him in to have a cup of tea. After that he came often.
Once his mouth jerked, and turning, she saw her husband in the doorway. She thought, One of the neighbors must have told him. She smiled and opened her mouth to speak, but could say
O lord, he said, Japanese women, real women, they have not forgotten, bowing and smiling closing the wounds men have made; but American women will kill you like they tear a lampshade, American women care less than a dime, they’ve gotten derailed,
It was biting cold, and the falling snow, Which filled a poor little match girl’s heart with woe, Who was bareheaded and barefooted, as she went along the street, Crying, “Who’ll buy my matches? for I want pennies to buy some meat!”
When she left home she had slippers on; But, alas! poor child, now they were gone. For she lost both of them while hurrying across the street, Out of the way of two carriages which were near by her feet.
So the little girl went on, while the snow fell thick and fast; And the child’s heart felt cold and downcast, For nobody had bought any matches that day, Which filled her little mind with grief and dismay.
Tulsidas, the poet, was wandering, deep in thought, by the Ganges, in that lonely spot where they burn their dead. He found a woman sitting at the feet of the corpse of her dead husband, gaily dressed as for a wedding. She rose as she saw him, bowed to him, and said, "Permit me, Master, with your blessing, to follow my husband to heaven." "Why such hurry, my daughter?" asked Tulsidas. "Is not this earth also His who made heaven?" "For heaven I do not long," said the woman. "I want my husband." Tulsidas smiled and said to her, "Go back to your home, my child. Before the month is over you will find your husband." The woman went back with glad hope. Tulsidas came to her every day and gave her high thoughts to think, till her heart was filled to the brim with divine love. When the month was scarcely over, her neighbours came to her, asking, "Woman, have you found your husband?" The widow smiled and said, "I have." Eagerly they asked, "Where is he?" "In my heart is my lord, one with me," said the woman.
The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees. The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas. The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor, And the highwayman came riding— Riding—riding— The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door.
He’d a French cocked-hat on his forehead, a bunch of lace at his chin,
Ach, in den Armen hab ich sie alle verloren, du nur, du wirst immer wieder geboren .... —Rilke, Die Aufzeichnungen des Malte Laurids Brigge The twilight falls; I soften the dusting feathers, And clean again.
In the laboratory waiting room containing one television actor with a teary face trying a contact lens; two muscular victims of industrial accidents; several vain women—I was one of them— came Deborah, four, to pick up her glass eye.
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