As the two wayfarers came within the precincts of the town, the children of the Puritans looked up from their play—or what passed for play with those sombre little urchins—and spake gravely one to another:—
“Behold, verily, there is the woman of the scarlet letter; and, of a truth, moreover, there is the likeness of the scarlet letter running along by her side! Come, therefore, and let us fling mud at them!”
But Pearl, who was a dauntless child, after frowning, stamping her foot, and shaking her little hand with a variety of threatening gestures, suddenly made a rush at the knot of her enemies, and put them all to flight. She resembled, in her fierce pursuit of them, an infant pestilence—the scarlet fever, or some such half-fledged angel of judgment—whose mission was to punish the sins of the rising generation. She screamed and shouted, too, with a terrific volume of sound, which, doubtless, caused the hearts of the fugitives to quake within them. The victory accomplished, Pearl returned quietly to her mother, and looked up, smiling, into her face.
"The Scarlet Letter", by Nathaniel Hawthorne.
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Conversation - Francesco Pirazzi , 2021.
Italian , b. 1994 -
Oil on canvas , 25 x 34 in. 64 x 87 cm.
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i feel so sad about my online friendships and how things are gradually souring with some people i considered very special back when i was 15.
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— SALMAN TOOR (a spring night in pakistan)
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