Q. K. Philander Doesticks

Q. K. Philander Doesticks

Summary

Portrait of Q. K. Philander Doesticks Q. K. Philander Doesticks The Witches of New York

In certain of the older States of the Union, there cannot probably be found any country village that does not boast its old crones of fortune-telling celebrity—women [308] who are not named by the awe-struck youngsters of the town, but with low breath and a startled sort of look thrown backward over the shoulder every minute as if in half-fear that the evil eye is even there upon them.
Source: Gutenberg

Portrait of Q. K. Philander Doesticks Q. K. Philander Doesticks The Witches of New York

In the midst of this filth, with policy-shops adjacent, and pawnbrokers’ offices close at hand, and rum shops convenient in the neighborhood—where the reeking streets and stagnant gutters, and the heaps of decomposing garbage, send up a stench so thick and heavy that it beslimes everything it touches, and makes a man feel as if he were far past the saving powers of soap and soft water, and was fast dissolving into rancid lard oil—in this congenial atmosphere flourishes the prophetess, and here is found the mansion of Mrs. Fleury, “the most celebrated lady of the age in telling future events.”
Source: Gutenberg

Portrait of Q. K. Philander Doesticks Q. K. Philander Doesticks The Witches of New York

A feeble child, just old enough to run alone, had constructed a child’s paradise in the lee of the cooking-stove, and was seated on a dinner-pot, with one foot in a saucepan; it had been playing on the wash-boiler like a drum, but was now engaged in decorating some loaves of unbaked bread with bits of charcoal and splinters from the broom.
The fighting servant retreated to the far end of the apartment, where she began to wash dishes with vindictive earnestness, stopping at short intervals to wave her dish-cloth savagely as a challenge to instant single combat.
Source: Gutenberg

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