But she's turned her face away and she's crying. She's not crying for him, because nobody, he thinks, will ever cry for him, God didn't cut him out that way. She's crying for her idea of what life should be like: Sunday after church, all the sisters, sisters-in-law, wives kissing and patting, swatting at each other's children and at the same time loving them and rubbing their little round heads, women comparing and swapping babies, and all the men gathering and talking business, wool, yarn, lengths, shipping, bl**dy Flemings, fishing rights, brewing, annual turnover, nice timely information, favor-for-favor, little sweeteners, little retainers, my attorney says ... That's what it should be, married to Morgan Williams, with the Willamses being a big family in Putney ... But somehow it's not been like that. Walter has spoiled it all. (page 11, ** mine)I chose this because it *is* a beautiful picture of what families (and churches) can be. It also seems to be my theme recently of long sentences with phrases strung together in such a way.
I'm blessed that I do get to spend many Sundays with my family doing a good bit of that.
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