“There she lay in the parlor, her face as calm as if she had never known the harshness of brutal guardians, the agony of poison, the terrible pangs of dissolution. Death had at last given her peace, the peace which passeth understanding.”
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“There she lay in the parlor, her face as calm as if she had never known the harshness of brutal guardians, the agony of poison, the terrible pangs of dissolution. Death had at last given her peace, the peace which passeth understanding.”
It’s early afternoon, not yet two o’clock on October 23, 1879, when Luman Smith returns to his farm in Williston. His little girl runs out to meet him and they go to the barn together, talking of this or that, then turning at the sound of footsteps, his father-in-law coming over.
These Dark Mountains
“There she lay in the parlor, her face as calm as if she had never known the harshness of brutal guardians, the agony of poison, the terrible pangs of dissolution. Death had at last given her peace, the peace which passeth understanding.”
