She looked down into the yard. The tree whose leaf umbrella had curled around, under and over her fire escape had been cut down becasue the housewives complained that the wash on the lines got entangled in the branches. The landlord had sent two men and they had chopped it down.
Annie, the fir tree, that the Nolans had cherished with waterings and manurings, had long since sickened and died. But this tree in the yard—this tree that the men chopped down . . . this tree that they’d built a bonfire around, trying to burn its stump—this tree lived!
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