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She milked the cows each morning and night with the sweeping strength and movements of a man. She carried pails of skimmed milk and slopped the hogs; when she kneaded bread for baking, it whistled and snapped under her hands and her arms worked liked steam pistons.
Agnes Smedley, Daughter of Earth, The Feminist Press, New York, 1973, p.19.
TIME: 1920's
PLACE: U.S.A.
CIRCUMSTANCE: description of authoress's Aunt Mary.
As he danced, he sang, and with the first sound of his voice the swaying men and women moved with rhythmical abandon. He was the living, articulate expression of their desires. He knew all the songs he had ever heard and if he didn't remember the music, he composed on the spot.
The music ceased. The silence was the silence that always follows when one has been moved by emotions deeper than the conscious mind.
Agnes Smedley, Daughter of Earth, The Feminist Press, New York, 1973, p.28.
TIME: 1920's
PLACE: U.S.A.
CIRCUMSTANCE: dance after a day of harvesting.
Another dancer broke loose from his partner and, bending half double, broke into such a clog dance as you have never seen! He knew just how to dance to make the most noise, and the "clickety-click-click, clickety-click-click" of his heels nearly drowned the music.
Agnes Smedley, Daughter of Earth, The Feminist Press, New York, 1973, p.29-30.
TIME: 1920's.
PLACE: U.S.A.
CIRCUMSTANCE: dance after a day of harvesting.
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