"If Marmee shook her fist instead of kissing her hand
to us, it would serve us right, for more ungrateful wretches
than we are were never seen," cried Jo, taking a remorseful
satisfaction in the snowy walk and bitter wind.

"Don't use such dreadful expressions," replied Meg from
the depths of the veil in which she had shrouded herself
like a nun sick of the world.

"I like good strong words that mean something," replied
Jo, catching her hat as it took a leap off her head
preparatory to flying away altogether.

"Call yourself any names you like, but I am neither a
rascal nor a wretch and I don't choose to be called so."

"You're a blighted being, and decidedly cross today because
you can't sit in the lap of luxury all the time. Poor dear,
just wait till I make my fortune, and you shall revel
in carriages and ice cream and high-heeled slippers,
and posies, and red-headed boys to dance with."

"How ridiculous you are, Jo!" But Meg laughed at the
nonsense and felt better in spite of herself.

"Lucky for you I am, for if I put on crushed airs and
tried to be dismal, as you do, we should be in a nice state.
Thank goodness, I can always find something funny to keep me
up. Don't croak any more, but come home jolly, there's a dear."