Explore "The Way Home" by Henry Handel Richardson on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
It was at another breakfast-table, something over a year previously, that Mary, having opened and read it, handed him a letter bearing the Leicester postmark.--"From my mother."
This ran: NOW MY DARLINGS I DON'T WANT TO HURRY YOU AWAY FROM ALL THE GRANDEURS AND GAIETIES OF THE METROPOLIS, AND HAVE YOU GRUMBLING OH BOTHERATION TAKE THAT OLD MOTHER OF OURS; BUT I DO LONG TO SEE YOU BOTH, MY CHILDREN, AND TO GET MY ARMS ROUND YOU. YOUR ROOM IS READY, THE BED MADE AND AIRED--LISBY HAS ONLY TO RUN THE BED-WARMER OVER THE SHEETS FOR THE LAST TIME. MY HOME IS SMALL AS YOU KNOW, POLLY, BUT YOU SHALL HAVE A ROYAL WELCOME, MY DEARS, AND I HOPE WILL MAKE IT YOURS TILL YOU HAVE ONE OF YOUR OWN AGAIN.