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ask her questions and find herself ALMOST feeling as if she would
presently answer. But she never did.
"As to answering, though," said Sara, trying to console herself,
"I don't answer very often. I never answer when I can help it.
When people are insulting you, there is nothing so good for them
as not to say a word--just to look at them and THINK>. Miss Minchin
turns pale with rage when I do it, Miss Amelia looks frightened,
and so do the girls. When you will not fly into a passion people
know you are stronger than they are, because you are strong enough
to hold in your rage, and they are not, and they say stupid things
they wish they hadn't said afterward. There's nothing so strong
as rage, except what makes you hold it in--that's stronger.
It's a good thing not to answer your enemies. I scarcely ever do.
Perhaps Emily is more like me than I am like myself. Perhaps she
would rather not answer her friends, even. She keeps it all in
her heart."
But though she tried to satisfy herself with these arguments,
she did not find it easy. When, after a long, hard day, in which she
had been sent here and there, sometimes on long errands through wind
and cold and rain, she came in wet and hungry, and was sent out
again because nobody chose to remember that she was only a child,
and that her slim legs might be tired and her small body might
be chilled; when she had been given only harsh words and cold,
slighting looks for thanks; when the cook had been vulgar and insolent;
when Miss Minchin had been in her worst mood, and when she had seen
the girls sneering among themselves at her shabbiness--then she
was not always able to comfort her sore, proud, desolate heart with
fancies when Emily merely sat upright in her old chair and stared.
One of these nights, when she came up to the attic cold and hungry,
with a tempest raging in her young breast, Emily's stare seemed
so vacant, her sawdust legs and arms so inexpressive, that Sara
lost all control over herself. There was nobody but Emily--
no one in the world. And there she sat.
"I shall die presently," she said at first.
Emily simply stared.
"I can't bear this," said the poor child, trembling. "I know I
shall die. I'm cold; I'm wet; I'm starving to death. I've walked
a thousand miles today, and they have done nothing but scold me from
morning until night. And because I could not find that last thing
the cook sent me for, they would not give me any supper. Some men
laughed at me because my old shoes made me slip down in the mud.
I'm covered with mud now. And they laughed. Do you hear?"
She looked at the staring glass eyes and complacent face,
and suddenly a sort of heartbroken rage seized her. She lifted
her little savage hand and knocked Emily off the chair,
bursting into a passion of sobbing--Sara who never cried.
"You are nothing but a DOLL>! she cried. "Nothing but a doll--
doll--doll! You care for nothing. You are stuffed with sawdust.
You never had a heart. Nothing could ever make you feel.
You are a DOLL>!"
Emily lay on the floor, with her legs ignominiously doubled up
over her head, and a new flat place on the end of her nose;
but she was calm, even dignified. Sara hid her face in her arms.
The rats in the wall began to fight and bite each other and squeak
and scramble. Melchisedec was chastising some of his family.
Sara's sobs gradually quieted themselves. It was so unlike her
to break down that she was surprised at herself. After a while she
raised her face and looked at Emily, who seemed to be gazing at her
round the side of one angle, and, somehow, by this time actually
with a kind of glassy-eyed sympathy. Sara bent and picked her up.
Remorse overtook her. She even smiled at herself a very little smile.
"You can't help being a doll," she said with a resigned sigh,
"any more than Lavinia and Jessie can help not having any sense.
We are not all made alike. Perhaps you do your sawdust best."
And she kissed her and shook her clothes straight, and put her back
upon her chair.
She had wished very much that some one would take the empty house
next door. She wished it because of the attic window which was so
near hers. It seemed as if it would be so nice to see it propped [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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ask her questions and find herself ALMOST feeling as if she would
presently answer. But she never did.
"As to answering, though," said Sara, trying to console herself,
"I don't answer very often. I never answer when I can help it.
When people are insulting you, there is nothing so good for them
as not to say a word--just to look at them and THINK>. Miss Minchin
turns pale with rage when I do it, Miss Amelia looks frightened,
and so do the girls. When you will not fly into a passion people
know you are stronger than they are, because you are strong enough
to hold in your rage, and they are not, and they say stupid things
they wish they hadn't said afterward. There's nothing so strong
as rage, except what makes you hold it in--that's stronger.
It's a good thing not to answer your enemies. I scarcely ever do.
Perhaps Emily is more like me than I am like myself. Perhaps she
would rather not answer her friends, even. She keeps it all in
her heart."
But though she tried to satisfy herself with these arguments,
she did not find it easy. When, after a long, hard day, in which she
had been sent here and there, sometimes on long errands through wind
and cold and rain, she came in wet and hungry, and was sent out
again because nobody chose to remember that she was only a child,
and that her slim legs might be tired and her small body might
be chilled; when she had been given only harsh words and cold,
slighting looks for thanks; when the cook had been vulgar and insolent;
when Miss Minchin had been in her worst mood, and when she had seen
the girls sneering among themselves at her shabbiness--then she
was not always able to comfort her sore, proud, desolate heart with
fancies when Emily merely sat upright in her old chair and stared.
One of these nights, when she came up to the attic cold and hungry,
with a tempest raging in her young breast, Emily's stare seemed
so vacant, her sawdust legs and arms so inexpressive, that Sara
lost all control over herself. There was nobody but Emily--
no one in the world. And there she sat.
"I shall die presently," she said at first.
Emily simply stared.
"I can't bear this," said the poor child, trembling. "I know I
shall die. I'm cold; I'm wet; I'm starving to death. I've walked
a thousand miles today, and they have done nothing but scold me from
morning until night. And because I could not find that last thing
the cook sent me for, they would not give me any supper. Some men
laughed at me because my old shoes made me slip down in the mud.
I'm covered with mud now. And they laughed. Do you hear?"
She looked at the staring glass eyes and complacent face,
and suddenly a sort of heartbroken rage seized her. She lifted
her little savage hand and knocked Emily off the chair,
bursting into a passion of sobbing--Sara who never cried.
"You are nothing but a DOLL>! she cried. "Nothing but a doll--
doll--doll! You care for nothing. You are stuffed with sawdust.
You never had a heart. Nothing could ever make you feel.
You are a DOLL>!"
Emily lay on the floor, with her legs ignominiously doubled up
over her head, and a new flat place on the end of her nose;
but she was calm, even dignified. Sara hid her face in her arms.
The rats in the wall began to fight and bite each other and squeak
and scramble. Melchisedec was chastising some of his family.
Sara's sobs gradually quieted themselves. It was so unlike her
to break down that she was surprised at herself. After a while she
raised her face and looked at Emily, who seemed to be gazing at her
round the side of one angle, and, somehow, by this time actually
with a kind of glassy-eyed sympathy. Sara bent and picked her up.
Remorse overtook her. She even smiled at herself a very little smile.
"You can't help being a doll," she said with a resigned sigh,
"any more than Lavinia and Jessie can help not having any sense.
We are not all made alike. Perhaps you do your sawdust best."
And she kissed her and shook her clothes straight, and put her back
upon her chair.
She had wished very much that some one would take the empty house
next door. She wished it because of the attic window which was so
near hers. It seemed as if it would be so nice to see it propped [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]