Flora Baumbach Quotes in The Westing Game
Who were these people, these specially selected tenants? They were mothers and fathers and children. A dressmaker, a secretary, an inventor, a doctor, a judge. And, oh yes, one was a bookie, one was a burglar, one was a bomber, and one was a mistake.
"Itsss-oo-nn," Chris announced.
"What did he say?"
"He said it's snowing," Theo and Flora Baumbach explained at the same time.
The heirs watched helplessly as the invalid's thin frame was suddenly torn and twisted by convulsions. Only the dressmaker rushed to his side. "I know, I know," she simpered, "you were trying to tell us about the itsy-bitsy snowflings."
Theo moved her away. "My brother is not an infant, and he's not retarded, so please, no more baby talk."
Blinking away tears, Flora Baumbach returned to her seat, the elfin smile still painted on her pained face.
Some stared at the afflicted child with morbid fascination, but most turned away. They didn't want to see.
Veiled in black, she hurried from the funeral services. It was Saturday and she had an important engagement. Angela brought her daughter, Alice, to the Wexler-Theodorakis mansion to spend Saturday afternoons with her aunt.
There she was, waiting for her in the library. Baba had tied red ribbons in the one long pigtail down her back.
"Hi there, Alice," T. R. Wexler said. "Ready for a game of chess?"
Flora Baumbach Quotes in The Westing Game
Who were these people, these specially selected tenants? They were mothers and fathers and children. A dressmaker, a secretary, an inventor, a doctor, a judge. And, oh yes, one was a bookie, one was a burglar, one was a bomber, and one was a mistake.
"Itsss-oo-nn," Chris announced.
"What did he say?"
"He said it's snowing," Theo and Flora Baumbach explained at the same time.
The heirs watched helplessly as the invalid's thin frame was suddenly torn and twisted by convulsions. Only the dressmaker rushed to his side. "I know, I know," she simpered, "you were trying to tell us about the itsy-bitsy snowflings."
Theo moved her away. "My brother is not an infant, and he's not retarded, so please, no more baby talk."
Blinking away tears, Flora Baumbach returned to her seat, the elfin smile still painted on her pained face.
Some stared at the afflicted child with morbid fascination, but most turned away. They didn't want to see.
Veiled in black, she hurried from the funeral services. It was Saturday and she had an important engagement. Angela brought her daughter, Alice, to the Wexler-Theodorakis mansion to spend Saturday afternoons with her aunt.
There she was, waiting for her in the library. Baba had tied red ribbons in the one long pigtail down her back.
"Hi there, Alice," T. R. Wexler said. "Ready for a game of chess?"
