"
She said she had heard of me ... she opened the door and went into the
house. I followed.
She was the wife of Anarchist Jones, of whom I had already heard the
household speak--as a difficult, recalcitrant member of the colony.
The Joneses were very poor. They had two children and lived in a mere
shack on the outskirts of the community. Jones was a shoemaker. His wife
came twice a week to clean up and set things to rights in the Baxter
menage--his two houses. I took care of the tent myself, while I was
there....
By this time Darrie, Ruth, and Mrs. Baxter were up. I sat in the
library, in the morris chair, deeply immersed in the life of Nietzsche,
by his sister. Nevertheless I was not so preoccupied as not to catch
fugitive glimpses of kimonos disappearing around door-corners ... women
at their mysterious morning ritual of preparing themselves against the
day.
Comfortable of mind, at ease in heart and body, I sat there, dangling
one leg over the arm of the chair. I was much at home in the midst of
this easy, disjointed family group.
* * * * *
We were, the four of us--Darrie, Hildreth, Ruth, and I--seated together
at our outdoor table, scooping out soft-boiled eggs.
Hildreth Baxter had boiled my two eggs medium for me ... to the
humorous, affected consternation of Darrie and Ruth, which they, of
course, deliberately made visible to me, with the implication--
"You'd best look out, when Penton's lazy little wife waits on you .
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