Page "fiction" Paragraph 778

It all began on an autumn afternoon -- and who, after all these centuries, can describe the fineness of an autumn day??

One might pretend never to have seen one before, or, to more purpose, that there would never be another like it.

The clear and searching sweep of sun on the lawns was like a climax of the year's lights.

Leaves were burning somewhere and the smoke smelled, for all its ammoniac acidity, of beginnings.

The boundless blue air was stretched over the zenith like the skin of a drum.

Leaving her house one late afternoon, Mrs. Pastern stopped to admire the October light.

It was the day to canvass for infectious hepatitis.

Mrs. Pastern had been given sixteen names, a bundle of literature, and a printed book of receipts.

It was her work to go among her neighbors and collect their checks.

Her house stood on a rise of ground, and before she got into her car she looked at the houses below.

Charity as she knew it was complex and reciprocal, and almost every roof she saw signified charity.

Mrs. Balcolm worked for the brain.

Mrs. Ten Eyke did mental health.

Mrs. Trenchard worked for the blind.

Mrs. Horowitz was in charge of diseases of the nose and throat.

Mrs. Trempler was tuberculosis, Mrs. Surcliffe was Mothers' March of Dimes, Mrs. Craven was cancer, and Mrs. Gilkson did the kidney.

Mrs. Hewlitt led the birthcontrol league, Mrs. Ryerson was arthritis, and way in the distance could be seen the slate roof of Ethel Littleton's house, a roof that signified gout.