Ethan Frome, Edith Wharton [the ebook reader .TXT] 📗

his saggingpocket. At intervals, however, the post-master would hand him anenvelope addressed to Mrs. Zenobia-or Mrs. Zeena-Frome, and usuallybearing conspicuously in the upper left-hand corner the address ofsome manufacturer of patent medicine and the name of his specific.These documents my neighbour would also pocket without a glance, asif too much used to them to wonder at their number and variety, andwould then turn away with a silent nod to the post-master.

Every one in Starkfield knew him and gave him a greeting tempered tohis own grave mien; but his taciturnity was respected and it wasonly on rare occasions that one of the older men of the placedetained him for a word. When this happened he would listen quietly,his blue eyes on the speaker's face, and answer in so low a tonethat his words never reached me; then he would climb stiffly intohis buggy, gather up the reins in his left hand and drive slowlyaway in the direction of his farm.

"It was a pretty bad smash-up?" I questioned Har