First Lieutenant Jimmy Cross carried letters from a girl named Martha, a junior at Mount Sebastian College in New Jersey. They were not love letters, but Lieutenant Cross was hoping, so he kept them folded in plastic at the bottom of his rucksack. In the late afternoon, after a day's march, he would dig his foxhole, wash his hands under a canteen, unwrap the letters, hold them with the tips of his fingers, and spend the last hour of light pretending. He would imagine romantic camping trips into the White Mountains in New Hampshire. He would sometimes taste the envelope flaps, knowing her tongue had been there. More than anything, he wanted Martha to love him as he loved her, but the letters were mostly chatty, elusive on the matter of love. She was a virgin, he was almost sure. She was an English major at Mount Sebastian, and she wrote beautifully about her professors and roommates and midterm exams, about her respect for Chaucer and her great affection for Virginia Woolf. She often quoted lines of poetry; she never mentioned the war, except to say, Jimmy, take care of yourself. The letters weighed 10 ounces. They were signed Love, Martha, but Lieutenant Cross understood that Love was only a way of signing and did not mean what he sometimes pretended it meant. At dusk, he would carefully return the letters to his rucksack. Slowly, a bit distracted, he would get up and move among his men, checking the perimeter, then at full dark he would return to his hole and watch the night and wonder if Martha was a virgin.
Answer:
We’re waiting for the awful grandmother who is inside dropping pesos into la ofrenda box before the altar to La Divina Providencia. Lighting votive candles and genuflecting. Blessing herself and kissing her thumb. Running a crystal rosary between her fingers. Mumbling, mumbling, mumbling.
There are so many prayers and promises and thanks-be-to-God to be given in the name of the husband and the sons and the only daughter who never attend mass. It doesn’t matter. Like La Virgen de Guadalupe, the awful grandmother intercedes on their behalf. For the grandfather who hasn’t believed in anything since the first PRI elections. For my father, El Periquín, so skinny he needs his sleep. For Auntie Light-skin, who only a few hours before was breakfasting on brain and goat tacos after dancing all night in the pink zone. For Uncle Fat-face, the blackest of the black sheep—Always remember your Uncle Fat-face in your prayers. And Uncle Baby— You go for me, Mamá—God listens to you.
Hello. You forgot to add the information that must be evaluated so that this question can be answered. Also, you forgot to say that this question is about the article "See if I care". The information to be evaluated is:
"[Grady Maxwell] has grown in my mind over the yars, and so too has his importabce to my story
Answer:
According to the information above, the narrator spent her years maintaining a certain grief from Grady Maxwell, which indicates that the narrator did not release her bitterness at losing her job
Explanation:
As we read the text, we can see that the narrator blames Grady Maxwell for the loss of her job and for all the defeat she went through as a result. Even over the years, the narrator reveals that she never stopped thinking that Grady Maxwell is her greatest enemy and the main responsible for her defeat. She claims that she doesn't hate him, but the narration allows us to realize that she maintains a strong hurt and a certain anger for everything she believes he has caused.
Answer:
I am a tall person with big feet and wide shoulders. I really like to read and I love to draw. I have curly blond hair and blue eyes and a tan skin tone. I am very personable. Sometimes I think I am to hard on myself, but I don't give up easily. I like to try to do things to the best of my ability.
Explanation:
