One late Love letter

I was always a little in awe of Great-aunt Stephan Roost. Indeed, as children we were all frankly Links of London terrified of her. The fact that she did not live with the family, preferring her tiny cottage and solitude to the comfortable but rather noisy household where we were brought up-added to the respectful fear in which she was held.

We used to take it in turn to carry small delicacies which my mother had made down from the big house to the little cottage where Aunt Stephan and an old colored maid spent their Links of London sale days. Old Tate Sana would open the door to the rather frightened little messenger and would usher him-or her - into the dark voor-kamer, where the shutters were always closed to keep out the heat and the flies. There we would wait, in trembling but not altogether unpleasant.

She was a tiny little woman to inspire so much veneration. She was always dressed in black, and her dark clothes melted into the shadows of the voor-kamer and made her look Links of London earrings smaller than ever. But you felt. The moment she entered. That something vital and strong and somehow indestructible had come in with her, although she moved slowly, and her voice was sweet and soft. She never embraced us. She would greet us and take out hot little hands in her own beautiful cool one, with blue veins standing out on the back of it, as though the white skin were almost too delicate to contain them.

　Tanta Sana would bring in dishes of sweet, sweet, sticky candy, or a great bowl of grapes or Links of London necklace peaches, and Great-aunt Stephan would converse gravely about happenings on the farm, and, more rarely, of the outer world.　When we had finished our sweetmeats or fruit she would accompany us to the step, bidding us thank our mother for her gift and sending quaint, old-fashioned messages to her and the Father. Then she would turn and enter Links of London the house, closing the door behind, so that it became once more a place of mystery