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The Rebel of the School by L. T. Meade
page 29 of 393 (07%)


Lessons went on in their usual orderly fashion. At eleven o'clock there
was a break for a quarter of an hour. The girls streamed into the
playground. The playground was very large, and was asphalted, and in
consequence quite dry and pleasant to walk on. There was a field just
beyond, and into this field the girls now strolled by twos and twos.
Kathleen O'Hara clung to Ruth Craven's arm; she kept talking to her and
asking her questions.

"You needn't reply unless you like, pet," she said. "All I want is just
to look into your face. I adore beauty; I worship it more than anything
else on earth. I was brought up in the midst of it. I never saw anything
uglier than poor old Towser when he broke his leg and cut his upper jaw;
but although he was ugly, he was the darling of my heart. He died, and I
cried a lot. I can't quite get over it. Yes, I suppose I am uncivilised,
and I never want to be anything else. Do you think I want to copy those
nimby-pimby girls over there, or that lot, or that?"

"You had better not point, please, Miss O'Hara," said Ruth. "They won't
like it."

"What do I care whether they like it or not?" said Kathleen. "I wasn't
brought here to curry favor with them. What would my darling father say
if I told him that I was going to curry favor with the girls of the
Great Shirley School? And what would mother say? No, no; I may pick up
a few smatterings, or I may not, but there is one thing certain: I mean
to make a friend of you, Ruth--yes, a great big bosom friend. You will
be fond of me, won't you?"

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