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2020-08-06 12:42:38  Դձ
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ţַ:a g 9 559 v i p<"Of what?"That was the beginning of the story of the Indian gentleman.

"Heigh-ho, little Sara!" he said to himself "I don't believe you know how much your daddy will miss you."

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The sound in the hoarse, ravenous voice was awful.

When he had gone Sara stood in the middle of her attic and thought of many things his face and his manner had brought back to her. The sight of his native costume and the profound reverence of his manner stirred all her past memories. It seemed a strange thing to remember that she-- the drudge whom the cook had said insulting things to an hour ago-- had only a few years ago been surrounded by people who all treated her as Ram Dass had treated her; who salaamed when she went by, whose foreheads almost touched the ground when she spoke to them, who were her servants and her slaves. It was like a sort of dream. It was all over, and it could never come back. It certainly seemed that there was no way in which any change could take place. She knew what Miss Minchin intended that her future should be. So long as she was too young to be used as a regular teacher, she would be used as an errand girl and servant and yet expected to remember what she had learned and in some mysterious way to learn more. The greater number of her evenings she was supposed to spend at study, and at various indefinite intervals she was examined and knew she would have been severely admonished if she had not advanced as was expected of her. The truth, indeed, was that Miss Minchin knew that she was too anxious to learn to require teachers. Give her books, and she would devour them and end by knowing them by heart. She might be trusted to be equal to teaching a good deal in the course of a few years. This was what would happen: when she was older she would be expected to drudge in the schoolroom as she drudged now in various parts of the house; they would be obliged to give her more respectable clothes, but they would be sure to be plain and ugly and to make her look somehow like a servant. That was all there seemed to be to look forward to, and Sara stood quite still for several minutes and thought it over.

"Oh, no, I couldn't," said Ermengarde. "I NEVER could speak it!"

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"She's always doing something silly," snapped Lavinia. "My mamma says that way of hers of pretending things is silly. She says she will grow up eccentric."<"It is a strange way of doing the thing," he said. "Who planned it?"

Sara got up quickly on her feet. It must be remembered that she had been very deeply absorbed in the book about the Bastille, and she had had to recall several things rapidly when she realized that she must go and take care of her adopted child. She was not an angel, and she was not fond of Lavinia.

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"You must pretend it," said Sara. "If you pretend it enough, you will see them."

MISS MINCHIN,

<"That doll," cried Miss Minchin, pointing to the splendid birthday gift seated near--"that ridiculous doll, with all her nonsensical, extravagant things--I actually paid the bill for her!""Elle a l'air d'une princesse, cette petite," she said. Indeed, she was very much pleased with her new little mistress and liked her place greatly.

"Is this a new pupil for me, madame?" he said to Miss Minchin. "I hope that is my good fortune."

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In the Attic

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ţҶʣ㽶Ƥһӣڼһʡ²Ǯ̫ˣ Sara was sitting quietly in her seat, waiting to be told what to do. She had been placed near Miss Minchin's desk. She was not abashed at all by the many pairs of eyes watching her. She was interested and looked back quietly at the children who looked at her. She wondered what they were thinking of, and if they liked Miss Minchin, and if they cared for their lessons, and if any of them had a papa at all like her own. She had had a long talk with Emily about her papa that morning. ϸ

2019ƼưĿֻڿƼţ| ̵2018|м׵30 ܿն粨

ţںԵ "This moment!" was the fierce answer. "Don't sit staring like a goose. Go!" ϸ

ţר|已ϲԼ˸| ̵2018|Яɢװƽվ һںվ
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