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authornfenwick <nfenwick@pglaf.org>2025-03-16 10:21:04 -0700
committernfenwick <nfenwick@pglaf.org>2025-03-16 10:21:04 -0700
commit8537c7afc888e4dedb873d8003544036055309b6 (patch)
tree88a21736bcebdcdfe7f6199e7ffd5b0772b78075 /44385-0.txt
parent0ac0c687128bc184a2f38f0cb829c042b1d259df (diff)
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@@ -788,7 +788,7 @@ It was hard to believe that she had not been in that kitchen for years;
she was so much a part of it. She put the crocks away with a sure,
precise touch, moving leisurely and ample from the stove to the
dresser, looking into the pantry and the larder as though there were
-not an unfamiliar comer. When she had finished, everything in the
+not an unfamiliar corner. When she had finished, everything in the
kitchen had become part of a series of patterns. She stood in the
middle of the room wiping her hands on a check cloth; a smile beamed on
her lips; she thought it looked very nice, very satisfactory.