The Golden Scarecrow by Sir Hugh Walpole
page 66 of 207 (31%)
page 66 of 207 (31%)
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"T'ank you, Auntie Vi'let; t'ank you, Auntie Em'ly--your lovely
pwesents." "That's right, Angelina. I hope you'll use them sensibly. What's that she's holding, nurse?" "It's a doll Mr. Edward's sent her, mum." "What a hideous creature! Edward might have chosen something---- Time for her to go out, nurse, I think--now, while the sun's warm." But she did not hear. She did not know that they had gone. She sat there in a dreamy ecstasy rocking the red-cheeked creature in her arms, seeing, with her black eyes, visions and the beauty of a thousand worlds. III The name Rose was given to her. Rose had been kept, as a name, until some one worthy should arrive.... "Wosie Bwaid," a very good name. Her nakedness was clothed first in Rachel's bridesmaid's attire--alas! poor Rachel!--but the lace and finery did not suit those flaming red cheeks and beady black eyes. Rose was, there could be no question, a daughter of the soil; good red blood ran through her stout veins. Tess of the countryside, your laughing, chaffing, arms-akimbo dairymaid; no poor white product of the over-civilised cities. Angelina felt that the satin and lace were wrong; she tore them off, searched in the heaped-up cupboard for poor neglected Annie No. 1, found her, tore from her her red woollen skirt and white blouse, stretched them about Rose's portly |
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