” 109 < 15 > AN AFFAIR TO FORGET, 1965 “What was your real Mom like?” Michelle asked when they were walking to school the next day. America, the land of rosy apples and snowstorms, beckoned, and she wanted to fly thitherward. Yet you make our Bohemianism seem like a vulgar thing. You are wedged in amongst a crowd, perhaps in the promenade, you lean over the back, you are almost out of sight. Then Capes’ footsteps approached. " "It is, indeed," replied Mrs. He never cries nor frets, as children generally do, but lies at my bosom, or on my knee, as quiet and as gentle as you see him now. The fever came. The hymnal lyrics had never stirred her; she had memorized and sung them parrotwise. It is you who took my name, not I yours.
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