Quotes about clothing about Nancy: She wore a pale dress with pink rosebuds and a triple-flounced skirt,

and a straw bonnet that hid her face (ch 1 page 8) Grace says I have my hands folded in my lap the proper way although I have no gloves. The gloves I would wish to have would be smooth and white, and would fit without a wrinkle (ch 3 page 19) Grace thinks The visitors wear afternoon dresses with rows of buttons up their fronts, and stiff wire crinolines beneath (ch 3 page 19) Murderess, Murderess. It rustles like a taffeta skirt across the floor (ch 3 p 21) Grace thinks of Simon I see his hand, a hand like a glove, a glove stuffed with raw meat, his hand plunging into the open mouth of his leather bag (ch 3 p 29) I push my hair back . . . and smooth down my dress and apron (ch 4 p37) Simon thinks at party All of them swathed in the grubby vestments of a self-proclaimed quasi-holiness, and the rules of society dictate that one must be polite to them (ch 11 p 88) Simon with Lydia Though layers of delicate fabric, her arm presses against his (ch 11 p 92) Simon thinking of marrying rich girl The act of procreation would be undergone unseen, prudently veiled in white cotton (ch 11 p 95) Simon He felt as if he was watching her undress, through a chink in the wall (ch 11 p 99) Grace thinks I could see it now, it was white and shriveled up, he was dangling it by its wrist like a glove . . . I knew that this third hand must belong to some other woman (ch 12 p 105) about Graces mother As soon as the sheet was over her face I had the notion that it was not really my mother under there, it was some other woman; or that my mother had changed, and if I was to take away the sheet now, she would be someone else entirely. It must have been the shock of it that put such things into my head (ch 14 p 131) to picture her floating down in a white sheet among all the staring fish. It was worse than being put into the earth, because if a person is in the earth at least you know where they are (ch 14 p 132) And our mother's shoes went the same way; and our best sheet; and I might as well have used it to bury my poor mother, as would have been right (ch 15 p 137) Simon dreaming Women, the maids. Sitting on the edges of their narrow beds, in their white cotton shifts, their hair unbound and rippling down over their shoulders (ch 17 p 147) Swiftly he undoes the none-too-clean bibbed apron which she is wearing . . . He rummages around inside the layers of cloth, and at last succeeds in cutting her stay-laces with his pocket knife, releasing an odour of violetwater, autumn leaves, and humid flesh (ch 17 p 150) Grace about Mary But I was surprised to hear it from a girl, and one so young and pretty, and so neatly and cleanly dressed (ch 18 p 161). Mrs Honey had told her I looked like a ragamuffin and I was to be made presentable, since Mrs. Alderman

Parkinson had her name to keep up in the neighborhood (ch 18 p 162) Mary lent me a nightdress until mine should be dry . . . she wrapped me up in a sheet so I could go out of the laundry and climb up the back stairs; and she said I looked . . . just like a madwoman (ch 18 p 163) There were silks and cottons and broadcloths and flannels, and satins and tartans, and everything you could desire (ch 18 p 164) about Jeremiah He had . . . summer gloves in pale shades, most beautifully made (ch 18 p 166). Mrs. Honey said what a difference it made in my appearance, and how trim and respectable I looked, now that I was decently dressed (ch 18 p 168) The shirts and the nightgowns flapping in the breeze on a sunny day were like large white birds, or angels rejoicing, although without any heads (ch 19 p 172) But when we hung the same things up inside, in the grey twilight of the drying room, they looked different, like pale ghosts of themselves hovering and shimmering there in the gloom (ch 19 p 172) about Mary Would hide behind the sheets, and press up against them so there was the outline of her face, and give out a moaning sound; or she would get behind the nightshirts and make their arms move. (ch 19 p 172) I dreamt of my mother in her winding sheet, drifting down through the cold water . . . and the sheet began to come undone at the top . . . and her hair floated out, rippling like seaweed . . . but it was darker than my mother's hair had been; and then I knew that this was not my mother at all, but some other woman, and she was not dead inside the sheet at all, but still alive (ch 19 p 181). about Mary after abortion Her dress was all damp, and clinging to her like a wet bandage (ch 20 p 191) Mrs Honey She asked if there was another nightdress for Mary to be dressed in, and I said . . . I would give her one of mine (ch 20 p 195) Simon He has his own happier days and the memories of them, and they too contain pictures of clean sheets and joyful holidays, and cheerful young maidservants (ch 21 p 199) Rachel She's dressed in black; her skirt is a soft rippling bell, her veil blows out behind her like dark smoke. (ch 21 p 201) Simon has a picture of himself in a shadowy corner with Lydia. Behind a drapery; a heavy mauve brocade (ch 21 p 210) Simon dreams The sheets and linens move in the wind, as if worn by invisible swelling hips; as if alive (ch 21 p 210) Simon dreams A scarf or veil of white muslin is blown from the line and undulates gracefully through the air like a long bandage unrolling . . . which is twining around his neck. He struggles; he is being closely embraced he can scarcely breathe (ch 21 p 211) Mary She was buried in her best nightdress, and she didn't look dead in the least, but only asleep and very pale; and laid out all in white like that, she was just like a bride (ch 22 p 214) about Dr. Jordan I did see his gloves though, on his hands holding the reins, pale-yellow gloves they were, soft leather and so well made they fit with scarcely a wrinkle, you'd think they were his own skin. I was all the more sorry that I did not have any gloves myself, and kept my hands tucked well under the folds of my shawl (ch 23

p 227) about Nancy She was wearing a bonnet the same pale colour as her dress, it was as if she'd put on her best clothes to go out front and cut the flowers (ch 23 p 228) Grace thinks cleanliness is next to Godliness; and sometimes, when I have seen the pure white clouds billowing in the sky after a rain, I used to think that it was as if the angels themselves were hanging out their washing (ch 26 p 249) There is a good deal that can be seen especially by the ladies, who do not wish to be caught staring. They can also see through veils and window curtains (ch 26 p 255) And into my memory there floated an iceberg, as white as white could be (ch 26 p 257) And so this morning I saw only the usual form of light, a light without shape, coming in through the high-up and dirty grew windows, as if cast by no sun and no moon and no lamp or candle. Just a swathe of daylight (ch 27 p 259) I took off my prison nightdress, which was coarse-woven and of a yellowed colour; I should not say it was mine, because we own nothing here and share all in common (ch 27 p 259) Grace thinks I told him I'd dreamt about flowers. . . But I did not say that they were made of cloth, nor did I say when I had seen them last; nor did I say that they were not a dream (ch 27 p 265) Nancy says But she said she would lend me a dress of hers, which she did, though she took care that it was one of her second best, and not so fine as what she herself put on. And she also let me wear a pair of her gloves, which did not however fit as they should, as Nancy had large hands. Also we each wore a light shawl of patterned silk (ch 28 p 277) There were all different sorts of people there, the poorer farmers and their wives, and servants, and the tradesmen of the town, as well as those who from their dress and from their positions in the front pews thought themselves gentry, or next door to it (ch 28 p 278) because as scripture tells, the dead are there, and her guests are in the depths of Hell' and above all we should guard against complacency, like the Foolish Virgins, and should not let our lamps go out' because no man knew the day and the hour thereof; and we must await in fear and trembling (ch 28 p 279) They are hypocrites, they think . . . God will stay locked up and not go wandering about the earth during the week, poking his nose into their business, and looking into the depths and darkness and doubleness of their hearts, and their lack of true charity; and they believe they need only be bothered about him on Sundays when they have their best clothes on and their faces straight, and their hands washed and their gloves on, and their stories all prepared (ch 28 p 280) Jeremiah says You could be a medical clairvoyant . . . with your hair down you would have the right look (ch 28 p 297) Grace thinks But then I remembered what had happened to Mary Whitney; and although Jeremiah seemed kindly, appearances can be deceptive, as she found to her cost (ch 28 p 298) The dress she was making was a light cream-coloured American print with sprigs and buds, and a tucked bodice coming to a point below the waist, and three layers of flounced ruffles to the skirt; and I told her it was very becoming. Nancy frowned at herself in the mirror, and said all the same her waist was getting too big (ch31 p 302)

I was dazzled by the brightness; but as I looked up, I saw that in the trees by the house, and also in the trees of the orchard, there were a number of birds perching, enormous birds as white as ice. This was an ominous and baleful sight, as they appeared crouched as if ready to spring and destroy; and in that way they were like a gathering of crows, only white . . .They had a human form, and they were the angels whose white robes were washed in blood, . . . and they were sitting in silent judgment upon Mr. Kinnears house, and on all within it. And then I saw that they had no heads. (Ch 31 p 313)

And the nightdresses and shirts which were stuck in the trees did indeed look like angels without heads; and it was as if our own clothing was sitting in judgment upon us. (ch 31 p 314) Does his mother really believe that he can be charmed by such a vision of himselfmarried to Faith Cartwright and imprisoned in an armchair by the fire, frozen in a kind of paralyzed stupor, with his dear wife winding him up gradually in coloured silk threads like a cocoon, or like a fly snarled in the web of a spider? (ch 32 p 323)

Behind it a glimmering figure: his landlady, in a white gown, a pale shawl wrapped around her. In the candlelight her long loose hair looks grey. (ch 32 p 324)

The truth is that despite everything I once thought about him, he has faded; hes been fading year by year, like a dress washed over and over, and now what is left of him? A faint pattern. A button or two. Sometimes a voice; but no eyes, no mouth. What did he really look like, when he was in the flesh? (ch 33 p 327)

and the white pillars of the house are pink, and the white peonies are glowing red in the fading light (ch 33 p 329)

When you are in the middle of a story it isnt a story at all, but only a confusion; a dark roaring, a blindness, a wreckage of shattered glass and splintered wood; like a house in a whirlwind, or else a boat crushed by the icebergs or swept over the rapids, and all aboard powerless to stop it. Its only afterwards that it becomes anything like a story at all. (ch 33 p 330)

Dora speaks of Rachel Skinny as a rail and pale as a corpse, with long hair so yellow it was almost white (ch 34 p 337)

She was standing beside the bed in her nightdress, with her hair down, as when she was buried; and on the left side of her body I could see her heart, bright red through the white of her dress. (ch 35 p 349)

when Nancy was cutting the last of them; and I saw her in the dream, just as she was then, in her pale dress with the pink rosebuds and the tripleflounced skirt, and her straw bonnet that hid her face. (ch 35 p 350)

Only the mouth, her eyes were hidden by the blood and hair, and then she came apart into patches of colour, she scattered, a drift of red and white cloth petals across the stones. (ch 35 p 351)

He said you were well, and in good spirits. He said you were better dressed than usual, and were wearing white stockings. He implied they were Nancys. I was there in the courtroom, Sir. I heard him say it; although the stockings were my own. (ch 36 p 358) But when he pulled back the coverlet, the sheet was all spattered with dark blood, and there was a book lying there in the bed, covered with blood also. (ch 38 p 369) I looked into Nancys box, and at her dresses; and I thought, There is no need for them to go to waste, poor Nancy has no further use for them. . . and Id heard that the dead would come back to complete what they had left undone, and I didnt want her missing it, and following after me. (ch 38 p 370) I put on one of Nancys dresses, the pale one with the white ground and the small floral print (ch 38 p 371) burnt my own clothes; I didnt like the thought of wearing them ever again, as they would remind me of things I wished to forget. (ch 38 p 371)

I got a good look at McDermott in a bright light, and realized he had got Mr. Kinnears boots on. And I asked, did he take them off the body, as it lay in the cellar; and he said yes, and the shirt too was Kinnears, off the shelves in his dressing room, as it was a fine one, and better quality than any shirt hed ever owned. (ch 39 p 377) and although I felt myself innocent, I knew that appearances were against me. ( ch 39 p 378) dream - I saw how beautiful the house was, all white, with the pillars at the front, and the white peonies in flower by the verandah glimmering in the dusk, and the lamplight blooming in the window (ch 40 p 384) He pulls her downshe is wearing only a nightdressand falls on top of her, and shoves himself into her with a groan of lust and no manners, for in dreams everything is permitted. (ch 42 p 390) sneered at me for referring to it as mine, and for having no clothes of my own to speak of; but although it was true this box and the clothes in it had once been Nancys, they were hers no longer, as the dead have no use for such things. (ch 42 p 394) Somewhere within herselfhes seen it, if only for a moment, that conscious, even cunning look in the corner of her eyehe knows shes concealing something from him. As she stitches away at her sewing, outwardly calm as a marble Madonna, she is all the while exerting her passive stubborn strength against him. A prison does not only lock its inmates inside, it keeps all others out. Her strongest prison is of her own construction. (ch 44 p 403) Almost every night since, shes come to his room in her nightdress, with a white ruffled peignoir thrown over it. (ch 44 p 405)

Thomas Kinnears picket fence is painted white, Nancy Montgomerys black, an indication perhaps of the towns judgment upon her: murder victim or not, she was no better than she should be (ch 48 p 430) She knew nothing! I only borrowed her clothing for a time. Her clothing? says Simon. Her earthly shell. Her fleshly garment. (ch 48 p 445)

Now Grace is coming towards him across a wide lawn in sunshine, all in white, carrying an armful of red flowers: they are so clear he can see the dewdrops on them. (ch 49 p 458)

I lay in the best bed, wearing one of Janets cotton nightdresses instead of the coarse yellowy prison one (ch 51 p 482)

I recalled my poor mother in her shroud, as they were sliding her into the sea, and how I thought that she had already changed inside the sheet, and was a different woman, and now the same thing was happening to me (ch 51 p 482)

As we were packing and folding, I snipped some pieces out of the various dresses Id worn long ago, but which were now to be discarded; and I asked if I might have a prison nightdress (ch 51 p 486)

for the last time Id seen Jamie Walsh was at my own trial for murder, when it was his testimony that turned the minds of judge and jury so much against me for the wearing of a dead womans clothes. (ch 52 p 493)

The last of the peonies are flowering, a pink and white variety and very full of petals. (ch 53 p 496)

The summer curtains in both bedchambers are white. I like a white curtain myself. (ch 53 p 497)

but as Mary Whitney used to say, a little white lie such as the angels tell is a small price to pay for peace and quiet. (ch 53 p 502)

I am making just one large tree, on a background of white. The Tree itself is of triangles, in two colours, dark for the leaves and a lighter colour for the fruits; I am using purple for the leaves and red for the fruits. They have many bright colours now, with the chemical dyes that have come in, and I think it will turn out very pretty. But three of the triangles in my Tree will be different. One will be white, from the petticoat I still have that was Mary Whitneys; one will be faded yellowish, from the prison nightdress I begged as a keepsake when I left there. And the third will be a pale cotton, a pink and white floral, cut from the dress of Nancys that she had on the first day I was at Mr. Kinnears, and that I wore on the ferry to Lewiston, when I was running away. (ch 53 p

504) COLORS white/pale In the one instant before they come apart they are like the peonies in the front garden at Mr. Kinnears, that first day, only those were white. (ch 1 p 8) Around her neck is a white cotton kerchief printed with blue flowers, love-in-a-mist, its mine. (ch 1 p 9) Andshellbewhiteassnow. Andshewillbeaswhiteassnow, (ch 2 p 17) The gloves I would wish to have would be smooth and white ( ch 3 p19) Something pale blows past: it looks like a womans white scarf or veil, but then he sees it is only a gull, fighting the wind. The mindless turmoil of Nature, he thinks; Tennysons teeth and claws. (ch 7 p 55) and then I am taken up the back stairs, my hands washed as white as snow with the soap from the laundry (P 67) Simon is conscious of her white throat, (P 92) The act of procreation would be undergone unseen, prudently veiled in white cotton (P 95)