վҳʱ ƾ̨ ۵ Ļ Ƶ֪ʶȨ


2020-08-04 05:28:16  Դձ

ַ:a g 9 559 v i p<"Axed me if I was 'ungry," replied the hoarse voice."No, he is not Chinese," Sara whispered back; "he is very ill. Go on with your exercise, Lottie. `Non, monsieur. Je n'ai pas le canif de mon oncle.'"

"He is a poor thing," said Janet, "and he says we cheer him up. We try to cheer him up very quietly."

Somehow the sight of the dear little sixpence was good for both of them. It made them laugh a little, though they both had tears in their eyes.

Sara hesitated a second before she replied.

"He was a darling little thing going to a party," said Sara. "He was one of the Large Family, the little one with the round legs-- the one I call Guy Clarence. I suppose his nursery was crammed with Christmas presents and hampers full of cakes and things, and he could see I had nothing."


"No," answered Sara.<"I'll throw in two for makeweight," said the woman with her good-natured look. "I dare say you can eat them sometime. Aren't you hungry?"

It was a little figure more forlorn even than herself--a little figure which was not much more than a bundle of rags, from which small, bare, red muddy feet peeped out, only because the rags with which their owner was trying to cover them were not long enough. Above the rags appeared a shock head of tangled hair, and a dirty face with big, hollow, hungry eyes.

йҶ ۻ

When she began to speak Miss Minchin started quite violently and sat staring at her over her eyeglasses, almost indignantly, until she had finished. Monsieur Dufarge began to smile, and his smile was one of great pleasure. To hear this pretty childish voice speaking his own language so simply and charmingly made him feel almost as if he were in his native land--which in dark, foggy days in London sometimes seemed worlds away. When she had finished, he took the phrase book from her, with a look almost affectionate. But he spoke to Miss Minchin.

"She is actually waiting there for us!" she said. "Let us go in to her."

"Papa has sent me some more books, Sara," she said. "There they are."


<"Well, I think it's horrid," she said. "They've no right to starve her to death.""Madame Pascal pronounced it as if it were Carew instead of Crewe-- but that might be merely a matter of pronunciation. The circumstances were curiously similar. An English officer in India had placed his motherless little girl at the school. He had died suddenly after losing his fortune." Mr. Carmichael paused a moment, as if a new thought had occurred to him. "Are you SURE the child was left at a school in Paris? Are you sure it was Paris?"

Lottie cuddled up to her with a consoled sniff.





־ǿýķŬɣ֮ ˵ɣվһ "Will he let me catch him?" she asked. ϸ

ְ顭һܹȥЩԱӦ鲻ʹ| ̵2018|˷Ǹ߷彫ݷ˿

@ϰ壡ںΡպݹ "Who is that little girl who makes the fires?" she asked Mariette that night. ϸ

ٻͷ Ӯս| ̵2018|人ɽҽԺʩƵ𡱵 ѡᡱˣ