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2020-08-12 14:40:32  Դձ
עͽҴ· 

עͽҴ·֣

עͽҴ·ַ:a g 9 559 v i p"--DOUBTFULLY--"B good in Miss Minchin."

But she could not--even though she kept her eyes closed tightly, she could not. Something was forcing her to awaken-- something in the room. It was a sense of light, and a sound-- the sound of a crackling, roaring little fire.

עͽҴ·֣廭

She almost staggered to the books and opened the one which lay upon the top. Something was written on the flyleaf--just a few words, and they were these:

"What is it, darling?" Captain Crewe answered, holding her closer and looking down into her face. "What is Sara thinking of?"

"Nearly always," answered Sara. "Sometimes I try to pretend it is another kind of place; but the Bastille is generally easiest-- particularly when it is cold."

עͽҴ·֣ ɻ

"You see," Sara said when they were examining one who had no clothes. "If, when I find her, she has no frocks, we can take her to a dressmaker and have her things made to fit. They will fit better if they are tried on."

"I will not have her forming intimacies and talking to the other children," that lady said. "Girls like a grievance, and if she begins to tell romantic stories about herself, she will become an ill-used heroine, and parents will be given a wrong impression. It is better that she should live a separate life--one suited to her circumstances. I am giving her a home, and that is more than she has any right to expect from me."

עͽҴ·֣йҶ ۻ

Lottle wailed more loudly than ever. Miss Amelia began to cry. Miss Minchin's voice rose until it almost thundered, then suddenly she sprang up from her chair in impotent indignation and flounced out of the room, leaving Miss Amelia to arrange the matter.

But Becky was rather inclined to prefer to believe that the new neighbor was "an 'eathen." It sounded so much more romantic than that he should merely be the ordinary kind of gentleman who went to church with a prayer book. She sat and talked long that night of what he would be like, of what his wife would be like if he had one, and of what his children would be like if they had children. Sara saw that privately she could not help hoping very much that they would all be black, and would wear turbans, and, above all, that-- like their parent--they would all be "'eathens."

Jessie was not as ill-natured as she was silly. She picked up her book with a little jerk.

עͽҴ·֣ͻ

"Lavinia and Jessie are `best friends,'" she said rather huskily. "I wish we could be `best friends.' Would you have me for yours? You're clever, and I'm the stupidest child in the school, but I-- oh, I do so like you!"

ƷͼƬעͽҴ·֣

(ࣺӱӱ)

עͽҴ·ר

עͽҴ·ƼĶ

עͽҴ·³ʯһۣڴۡ When she was taking in the evening's milk for the cook (there was really no odd job she was not called upon to do), she saw something occur which made the situation more interesting than ever. The handsome, rosy man who was the father of the Large Family walked across the square in the most matter-of-fact manner, and ran up the steps of the next-door house. He ran up them as if he felt quite at home and expected to run up and down them many a time in the future. He stayed inside quite a long time, and several times came out and gave directions to the workmen, as if he had a right to do so. It was quite certain that he was in some intimate way connected with the newcomers and was acting for them. ϸ

35ٳɹۣװڴT| ̵2018|¥Ϊʲôд"˾"

עͽҴ·ž̺:йĺ ûվȴȸ Sara found some comfort in her remaining bun. At all events, it was very hot, and it was better than nothing. As she walked along she broke off small pieces and ate them slowly to make them last longer. ϸ

עͽҴ·ֵ˷˵©ʽߺ ²ۣ൱| ̵2018|԰5Ψ1гλ
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