But she managed to support herself and her deformed child. She
was a quiet woman who minded her own business. She rarely spoke. But she
could polish silver and furniture like no other person and so she had
plenty of work. In time, she was able to afford her own house. They had
lived in that house on Mulberry Street for twenty years. It was always
clean and neat. On rare occasions, Helen saw the mother shopping. The
mother was so thin and gaunt. How did she manage to lift that son of
hers?
As Helen passed the house that bright fall morning, she wondered if the
man could stand up or walk. "Helen! Helen! You look so pretty today!"
The young woman stopped dead in her tracks. Who spoke? She looked around
her. No one that she could see was there--except the person on the
porch. Was it him? No ... It couldn't be. She had heard that he knew how
to speak, but that he was very difficult to understand. But this voice
was pleasant and articulate. Very masculine, too. _Is someone hiding
behind a bush? No. I'm being silly_, she thought. _I must have imagined
it._ She looked around one more time, yet carefully avoiding looking at
the figure on the porch.
"Helen, why do you always ignore me?"
Again she stopped. This time she did not look around.
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