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"sang brogan" Discussed on The New Yorker: Fiction

The New Yorker: Fiction

04:36 min | 4 months ago

"sang brogan" Discussed on The New Yorker: Fiction

"Of good that is, her mother, who had been expecting a gold bracelet or a brooch said, that wouldn't take you far. They hung it on a nail in the kitchen for a while, and then one day it fell down and some one probably her mother used it to sweep dust onto. Ever since it was used for that purpose, Mary had wanted to treasure it to put it away in a trunk forever, but she was ashamed to. They were hard people, and it was only when someone died that they could give in to sentiment or crying. Sweet Mary, he had said, he never wrote, two summers passed, devil's poker's flowered for two seasons, thistle seed blue white in the harsh mountain wind, and the trees and the forestry plantation were a foot higher. She had a feeling that he would come back sometime and annoying fear that he might not. Oh, it ain't gonna rain no more no more. It ain't gonna rain no more. How in hell can the old folks tell it ain't gonna rain no more? So sang brogan, whose party it was, in the upstairs room of the commercial hotel. I'm buttoning his Brown waistcoat, he sat back and said what it finds spread it was. They had carried the goose up on a platter and laid in the center of the mahogany table with potato stuffing swelling out of it. There were sausages also, and polished glasses standing rimmed downward and plates and forks for everyone. A fork supper was how misses Rogers described it. She had read about it in the paper, it was all the rage now and posh houses in Dublin, this fork separate where you stood up for your food and ate with a fork only. Mary had brought knives in case anyone got into difficulties. Tis America at home, Hickey said, putting turf on the smoking fire. The pub door was bolted down stairs, the shutters across is the 8 guests upstairs watched misses Rogers carve the goose, and then tear the loose pieces away with her fingers. Every so often she wiped her fingers on a tea towel. Here you are, Mary, give this to mister brogan as he's the guest of honor. Mister brogan got a lot of breast and some crispy skin as well. Don't forget the sausages, Mary, misses Rogers said..

Sweet Mary sang brogan Mary Rogers Brown Dublin Hickey mister brogan America Mister brogan