But I was too young then to know her purpose, although my father often told me she had been brought from Italy at a terrible expense and was pure white marble. It seemed strange to me that she should stand above the town, harking us all to heaven without knowing who we were at all. Whoever carved her had left the eyeballs blank. She was doubly blind, not only stone but unendowed with even a pretense of sight. Summer and winter she viewed the town with sightless eyes. I wonder if she stands there yet, in memory of her who relinquished her feeble ghost as I gained my stubborn one, my mother’s angel that my father bought in pride to mark her bones and proclaim his dynasty, as he fancied, forever and a day. Above the town, on the hill brow, the stone angel used to stand.
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