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As I am now very old, having passed my twenty-fifth year, I consider it my duty to make my will in order that there will be no difficulty in distributing my valuable property after my death.
This morning as I sat admiring myself, the sudden cry of the banshee startled me and I dropped the looking glass, breaking it into a thousand pieces. As both of these signs predict a sudden death in the family and as I am the sole surviving branch of our famed family tree, I take the precaution of making this will, leaving my possessions to my classmates. |
I, Clementina Muzio, do hereby acknowledge this to be my last will and testament.
To Mary Watkins, I leave my side comb, she need not be afraid of getting anything more than the comb as I dropped it in carbolic acid after the last time I used it. I bought it at the Ten Cent Store and when it was new it had twenty teeth in it, although there are only thirteen left in it, if Mary combs her hair with a high pompadour in front and pushes the comb far down into her hair these minor defects will not be noticed. It has lasted me for ten years and has proved an excellent bargain for ten cents. I hope she will be very careful of that comb and only use it on state occasions for it was one of my most highly prized possessions.
To Hazel Shepherd I leave my bathing shoes, they are rather thin in the soles as they have known much history in their fourteen years of my acquaintance. The binding is off and they are rather dilapidated in the heels and toes. I got them when I was nine years old and they may be rather short for her, however she is in the habit of pinching her feet and will be able to use them to advantage.
To Celeste Benton I bequeath my green pin cushion, hoping she will not recognize it. Let me add also that as my dying request that it never be mentioned to Celeste that it is the identical pin cushion she gave me as a present on my fifteenth birthday. It is almost as good as new as I only used it for three months, considering it an unnecessary luxury as I had plenty of tuck in my few dresses under which to hide my scanty store of pins.
To Miss Virginia Roberts I bequeath my spangled pink cheesecloth dress. I wore it to a fancy dress ball when I was six years old, and as it is the only one I ever attended, Miss Roberts may consider herself fortunate in securing such a priceless relic of my former grandeur. If it is too small for her, as it may be if she has grown any, one of her proteges (she probably has many clustering around her in her famous career as an actress) would feel honored to receive it from her hands.
To Mary Watkins, I leave my side comb, she need not be afraid of getting anything more than the comb as I dropped it in carbolic acid after the last time I used it. I bought it at the Ten Cent Store and when it was new it had twenty teeth in it, although there are only thirteen left in it, if Mary combs her hair with a high pompadour in front and pushes the comb far down into her hair these minor defects will not be noticed. It has lasted me for ten years and has proved an excellent bargain for ten cents. I hope she will be very careful of that comb and only use it on state occasions for it was one of my most highly prized possessions.
To Hazel Shepherd I leave my bathing shoes, they are rather thin in the soles as they have known much history in their fourteen years of my acquaintance. The binding is off and they are rather dilapidated in the heels and toes. I got them when I was nine years old and they may be rather short for her, however she is in the habit of pinching her feet and will be able to use them to advantage.
To Celeste Benton I bequeath my green pin cushion, hoping she will not recognize it. Let me add also that as my dying request that it never be mentioned to Celeste that it is the identical pin cushion she gave me as a present on my fifteenth birthday. It is almost as good as new as I only used it for three months, considering it an unnecessary luxury as I had plenty of tuck in my few dresses under which to hide my scanty store of pins.
To Miss Virginia Roberts I bequeath my spangled pink cheesecloth dress. I wore it to a fancy dress ball when I was six years old, and as it is the only one I ever attended, Miss Roberts may consider herself fortunate in securing such a priceless relic of my former grandeur. If it is too small for her, as it may be if she has grown any, one of her proteges (she probably has many clustering around her in her famous career as an actress) would feel honored to receive it from her hands.