Note 68 — Chapter Forty
Reading edition
The morning of the day of my dear mother’s death, on one of those telepathic and not quite explainable impulses, I drove over to the Igrotte house in the forenoon, although it was my usual custom to arrive there about four in the afternoon in time to lift Mother, who was so dreadfully crippled of inflammatory rheumatism that winter, from her couch into her bed.
To my horror, I found her this day (it was actually the day of her death, dear darling) trying, with her pain-crammed fingers, to knit a blue neck-scarf for Steve’s eldest daughter, Pauline.
I shall never forget the stab of pain with which I beheld those tortured fingers working their laborious way along the needles....