It lasted till people began to come in for the prayers.
How she loves the synagogue! how she loves candle-blessing.
She has lived with grandmother two whole years.
She does not want to go home (there is no candle-blessing there, it is not the custom), unless it were just to see her mother, to clasp her father once round the neck and play awhile with his black, silky beard, and to have a game with the little ones.
Grandmother must not be left alone. She is always so good to her; she has taught her to bless the candles.
Bashe loves grandmother, and blessing the candles, too. She longs for it the whole week through, she counts the days. But this is a miserable Friday.
In the morning everything was the same as usual.
She had "made Sabbath"; grandmother had sat there and watched her happily. They had dressed themselves, and grandmother had taken her stick. Then, as ill-luck would have it, there came the postman.
Grandmother read the letter, threw herself on the bed, and there she has lain for two hours with her face to the wall.
She is black as a coal, her eyes are shut; one hand holds the letter; she foams at the mouth.