Description
I pulled my left arm from beneath the warm pile of blankets and coverlets. With small forefinger I touched the crystalline sheet of ice that covered the small window above my bed. The contact was strange: along my arm the minute, pale hairs rose with the goose pimples; a queer trembling passed through my body; my small bed trembled; and the hairs on my head seemed to want to pull from their roots. I quickly put my arm back under the comforting warmth of the blankets and pressed my nose into the pillow...
Recommended Citation
Griffith, William
(1949)
"Cabbage Stew,"
Manuscripts: Vol. 17
:
Iss.
1
, Article 14.
Retrieved from:
https://digitalcommons.butler.edu/manuscripts/vol17/iss1/14
Included in
Fiction Commons, Illustration Commons, Nonfiction Commons, Photography Commons, Poetry Commons
