Betty  Smith

“Each day, as she passed the house whose number she claimed, she looked at it with gratitude and affection. On windy days, when papers blew before it, she went about picking up the debris and depositing it in the gutter before the house. Mornings after the rubbish man had emptied the burlap bag and had carelessly tossed the empty bag on the walk instead of in the yard, Francie picked it up and hung it on a fence paling. The people who lived in the house came to look on her as a quiet child who had a queer complex about tidiness. Francie”


Betty Smith, A Tree Grows in Brooklyn
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A Tree Grows in Brooklyn A Tree Grows in Brooklyn by Betty Smith
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