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2020-08-07 20:36:02  Դձ
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´ƽַַ̨:a g 9 559 v i p

"Yes," Sara answered. "Papa asked Miss Minchin to let me have one, because--well, it was because when I play I make up stories and tell them to myself, and I don't like people to hear me. It spoils it if I think people listen."

´ƽַ̨廭

"Oh, Lottie!" screamed Miss Amelia. "Do stop, darling! Don't cry! Please don't!"

Miss Minchin struck the door open with a blow of her hand. She was pale herself, but it was with rage. She looked from the frightened faces to the banquet table, and from the banquet table to the last flicker of the burnt paper in the grate.

"Sara," said Miss Minchin in her schoolroom manner, "come here to me."

´ƽַ̨ ɻ

"Why, anyone can make up things," she said. "Have you never tried?"

"She must begin as she is to go on," Miss Minchin said to Miss Amelia. "She must be taught at once what she is to expect."

´ƽַ̨йҶ ۻ

"She was a shrewd, worldly Frenchwoman, and was evidently only too glad to get the child so comfortably off her hands when the father's death left her totally unprovided for. Women of her type do not trouble themselves about the futures of children who might prove burdens. The adopted parents apparently disappeared and left no trace."

"I am very fond of it," answered Sara, thinking she would try again; "but--"

<"I'm--I'm quite well," said Ermengarde, overwhelmed with shyness. Then spasmodically she thought of something to say which seemed more intimate. "Are you--are you very unhappy?" she said in a rush."Ermengarde!" cried Sara. She was so startled that she was almost frightened. "You will get into trouble."

It certainly was an odd thing that happened to Sara. She had to cross the street just when she was saying this to herself The mud was dreadful-- she almost had to wade. She picked her way as carefully as she could, but she could not save herself much; only, in picking her way, she had to look down at her feet and the mud, and in looking down-- just as she reached the pavement--she saw something shining in the gutter. It was actually a piece of silver--a tiny piece trodden upon by many feet, but still with spirit enough left to shine a little. Not quite a sixpence, but the next thing to it-- a fourpenny piece.

´ƽַ̨ͻ

<"Oh, I can't," said Ermengarde. "I'm too fat, and I don't know how. YOU be her."That moment she saw something and pounced upon it. It was Ermengarde's red shawl which lay upon the floor.

Becky stepped aside respectfully to allow the superior servants to pass out first. She could not help casting a longing glance at the box on the table. Something made of blue satin was peeping from between the folds of tissue paper.

ƷͼƬ´ƽַ̨

(ࣺӱӱ)

´ƽַ̨ר

´ƽַ̨ƼĶ

´ƽַ̨ʷ˹ƶʾ֮ ޽δ䡱 "Becky!" she exclaimed. "My dearest Sara!" ϸ

շߵMaciOSӦò蹺| ̵2018|꣺ݡеȲش ϴּ

´ƽַ̨˰ݣҶˣƾʲô̸ "What are you thinking of?" she demanded. "Why do you look at me like that?" ϸ

´ƽַ̨֪칫ұ˽һ| ̵2018|ĸЯʧ 3պ屻
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