Bellona Times

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1,919 appearances 1 recordings 1 series first heard Aug 2026 last heard 1 Aug

Bellona Times’s voice in public audio — every appearance, attributed to the second.

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Recordings per month over the last 12 months — 1 in all, peaking in Aug 2026 with 1.

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Through the Looking Glass · 1912 Short Works Collection - Various · 1 Aug 2026 podcast

I hurried on as fast as I could, and had gone some distance before I perceived that Redhead was walking by my side.

After a while he said to me, Let me carry your books.

I gave him my strap without being able to answer.

When we got to my gate, he said, as he handed me my books, Say, you know my big red agate?

I can't shoot with it anymore.

I'm going to bring it to school for you tomorrow.

i took my books and ran into the house as i passed through the hallway i saw that my mother was busy with one of her customers i rushed up into my own little room shut the door and went quickly to where my looking-glass hung on the wall

for an instant i was afraid to look but when i did i looked long and earnestly i had often heard people say to my mother what a pretty boy you have i was accustomed to hear remarks about my beauty but now for the first time i became conscious of it and recognized it

I noticed the ivory whiteness of my skin, the beauty of my mouth, the size and liquid darkness of my eyes, and how the long black lashes that fringed and shaded them produced an effect that was strangely fascinating, even to me.

I noticed the softness and glossiness of my dark hair that fell in waves over my temples, making my forehead appear whiter than it really was.

How long I stood there gazing at my image I do not know.

when i came out and reached the head of the stairs i heard the lady who had been with my mother going out i ran downstairs and rushed to where my mother was sitting with the piece of work in her hands i buried my head in her lap and blurted out mother mother tell me am i a nigger

I could not see her face, but I knew the piece of work dropped to the floor, and I felt her hands on my head.

I looked up into her face and repeated, Tell me, mother, am I a nigger?

there were tears in her eyes and i could see that she was suffering for me and then it was that i looked at her critically for the first time i had thought of her in a childish way only as the most beautiful woman in the world now i looked at her searching for defects

I could see that her skin was almost brown, that her hair was not so soft as mine, and that she did differ in some way from the other ladies who came to the house.

Yet, even so, I could see that she was very beautiful, more beautiful than any of them.

She must have felt that I was examining her, for she hid her face in my hair and said with difficulty,

No, my darling, you are not a nigger.

She went on.

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