Boston Celtics vs. New Orleans Pelicans TicketsTD GardenBoston, Massachusetts April 6, 2016 View Tickets
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Her starched skirts crinkled as she came and went. Farther down, before one of the cottages, a lady in black was walking demurely up and down, telling her beads. A good many persons of the pension had gone over to the Cheniere Caminada in Beaudelet\\\'s lugger to hear mass. Some young people were out under the wateroaks playing croquet. Mr. Pontellier\\\'s two children were there sturdy little fellows of four and five. A quadroon nurse followed them about with a faraway, meditative air.\\\"You are burnt beyond recognition,\\\" he added, looking at his wife as one looks at a valuable piece of personal property which has suffered some damage. She held up her hands, strong, shapely hands, and surveyed them critically, drawing up her fawn sleeves above the wrists. Looking at them reminded her of her rings, which she had given to her husband before leaving for the beach. She silently reached out to him, and he, understanding, took the rings from his vest pocket and dropped them into her open palm. She slipped them upon her fingers; then clasping her knees, she looked across at Robert and began to laugh. The rings sparkled upon her fingers. He sent back an answering smile.The tears came so fast to Mrs. Pontellier\\\'s eyes that the damp sleeve of her peignoir no longer served to dry them. She was holding the back of her chair with one hand; her loose sleeve had slipped almost to the shoulder of her uplifted arm. Turning, she thrust her face, steaming and wet, into the bend of her arm, and she went on crying there, not caring any longer to dry her face, her eyes, her arms. She could not have told why she was crying. Such experiences as the foregoing were not uncommon in her married life. They seemed never before to have weighed much against the abundance of her husband\\\'s kindness and a uniform devotion which had come to be tacit and self-understood.If one of the little Pontellier boys took a tumble whilst at play, he was not apt to rush crying to his mother\\\'s arms for comfort; he would more likely pick himself up, wipe the water out of his eves and the sand out of his mouth, and go on playing. Tots as they were, they pulled together and stood their ground in childish battles with doubled fists and uplifted voices, which usually prevailed against the other mother-tots.