Explore "The Reaping" by Mary Imlay Taylor on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
IT was ten o'clock in the morning, and Rose was clipping the dead leaves from her flowers in the bow-window of the library, while Judge Temple still read the morning paper in his great high-backed chair; a shaft of sunlight stealing through the open carving touched his scanty white hair and showed the crumpled lines of the blue veins on his temples. He was an old man; he had married late in life and Rose, the youngest born and only survivor of five children, was proportionately dear to him. There was a warm sympathy between them and a companionship beautiful to see.
"There's some trouble in the Cabinet," he observed, as he turned his paper; "there are hints here about Wicklow White."