The paint, which was difficult to remove by any but its natural effacers--the long courses of nature--was one of those minor material antagonisms of life which keep the spirit whetted for harder ones.
Paulina Maria Judd had many such; when the pricks of fate were too firm set against her struggling feet she saved herself from the despair of utter futility by taking soap and water and sand, and going forth to attack the paint on her house walls, and also the front door-stone worn in frequent hollows for the collection of dirt and dust.
This evening, when Jerome drew near, he saw a long rise of back over the door-step, and a swiftly plying shoulder and arm.

Paulina Maria looked up without ceasing when Jerome stood beside her.
"You're working late," he said, with an attempt at pleasantry.
"I have to do my cleanin' late or not at all," replied Paulina Maria, in her cold, calm voice.

She rubbed more soap on her cloth.
"Uncle Adoniram at home ?" Jerome had always called Adoniram "Uncle," though he was his father's cousin.
"Yes." "I want to see him a minute about something." "You'll have to go round to the back door.

I can't have more dirt tracked into this while it's wet." Jerome went around the house to the back door.

As he passed the lighted sitting-room windows he saw a monstrous shadow with steadily moving hands on the curtain.