Explore "Bladys of the Stewponey" by Sabine Baring-Gould on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Erect, rigid, stood Mother Onion beside the corpse of her son extended at the foot of Holy Austin Rock. Her face was livid, strained and knotted in muscle with the cramp of excitement and resentment that held her soul. Her harsh features were strongly illumined by the setting sun. They seemed to be chiselled out of marble--an orange marble--not moulded in flesh, and chiselled by an unskilful workman. But her eyes gleamed with lightning flashes.
Luke Hangman lay extended his length at her feet, on his back, his arms outspread, and his mouth half-open. That he was dead could not for a moment be doubted, nor did his mother entertain a hope to the contrary.