Writings by Susan Dickinson

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bitter cold 'till turned out by the drifts into the shelter of some
farmhouse near us on the north, for any farther progress semed impossi-
ble. I shall never forget his comical outline, as after adding layer
upon layer of wraps, more furs, more mittens, a long red muffler of [?]
for [?]
Papa's was twisted into almost a hangmen's knot, about where his neck
should be or have been. We had cordial adieus, hopes to meet again, the smoking stones
were tucked about him, the driver cracked his whip [?] [?] [?] [?], and dear old Tom Ben-
ton was gone. Whoever met this wintry craft that steel[?] day would not have fancied any
thing more alive was being trans freighted through the snow, than a gin-
ger-bread man, or an Egyptian mummy. The next year he died, and we went
about saying with softened breath and real affection , if with a bit of
reverent humor, "Where was Benton then !! .

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Writings by Susan Dickinson Main Page
Image reproduced by permission of the Houghton Library, Harvard University.
Not to be reproduced in whole or in part without permission.
Transcription and commentary copyright 1998 by Martha Nell Smith,
Laura Elyn Lauth, and Lara Vetter, all rights reserved
Maintained by Rebecca Mooney  <rnmooney@umd.edu>
Last updated on January 23, 2008

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