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with leg-o-mutton sleeves she mounted for the annual calls on the neighbors. It was also said that Mrs. Ames read Greek as light summer reading, and that she had brought up her two sons, Robert and Richard, very strictly.

    But in 1927, old Mrs.  Ames ^existed lived only as

a powerful tradition of Bostonian eccentricity, and her sons and grandchildren lived on in the old yellow farmhouse on the Point, their respective destinies closed ^and fermenting within them.

   Another tradition had to do with Polly

Porter where patients ^left the great world & came to Castine when their daughter and son were children, to build and ^occupy crossed out: live in Mossacres, the big grey ^mansion house overlooking the Penobscot shore and the Camden Hills beyond. There was said to be bad blood somewhere in the family, but everybody remembered Polly as a beautiful girl in a white riding habit astride of a ^jet-black horse, galloping over the roads and fields. "Nobody could understand why Miss Porter never married, what with all the young men who came to visit at Mossacres. But she didn't, and