People of the Whirlpool by Mabel Osgood Wright
page 71 of 267 (26%)
page 71 of 267 (26%)
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Now and then the door would open softly and unaccustomed figures slip in and linger in the open space behind the pews. Aliens, newly landed and wandering about in the vicinity of their water-front lodging-houses, music and a church appealed to their loneliness. Some stood, heads bowed, and some knelt in prayer and crossed themselves on leaving; one woman, lugging a great bundle tied in a blue cloth, a baby on her arm and another clinging to her skirts, put down her load, bedded the baby upon it, and began to tell her beads. The service ended, and the people scattered, but the organist played on, and the boy choir regathered, but less formally. "What is it?" we asked of the verger, who was preparing to close the doors. "There will be a funeral of one of the oldest members of the congregation to-morrow, and they are about to go through the music of the office." Suddenly a rich bass voice, strong in conviction, trumpeted forth--"I am the resurrection and the life!" And only a stone's throw away jingled the money market of the western world. The temple and the table of the money changers keep step as of old. Ah, wonderful New York! * * * * * The afternoon was clear staccato and mild withal, and the sun, almost at setting, lingered above orange and dim cloud banks at the end of the vista Broadway made. |
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