վҳʱ ƾ̨ ۵ Ļ Ƶ֪ʶȨ


2020-08-10 03:10:09  Դձ


ҦDzַ:a g 9 559 v i p<"You have been there all the time, listening," said Miss Minchin.She stood panting a moment longer, and then cried out again.

"My mamma!" said Sara, looking odd. "I don't believe she would mind in the least. She knows that stories belong to everybody."


"Oh, I am awakening," she said mournfully. "I can't help it-- I can't."

"Oh," she gasped, "it is true! It is true!"


ҦDzأ ɻ

"And the wretched woman actually did not know where they had taken her!" exclaimed Mr. Carrisford.<"What an original child!" she said. "What a darling little creature!"

She began to make a low, whistling sound--so low and coaxing that it could only have been heard in entire stillness. She did it several times, looking entirely absorbed in it. Ermengarde thought she looked as if she were working a spell. And at last, evidently in response to it, a gray-whiskered, bright-eyed head peeped out of the hole. Sara had some crumbs in her hand. She dropped them, and Melchisedec came quietly forth and ate them. A piece of larger size than the rest he took and carried in the most businesslike manner back to his home.

ҦDzأйҶ ۻ

"'Twarn't for you, miss," she said hoarsely to Sara one night when she had crept into the attic--"'twarn't for you, an' the Bastille, an' bein' the prisoner in the next cell, I should die. That there does seem real now, doesn't it? The missus is more like the head jailer every day she lives. I can jest see them big keys you say she carries. The cook she's like one of the under-jailers. Tell me some more, please, miss--tell me about the subt'ranean passage we've dug under the walls."

"Stop!" said Miss Minchin. "Don't you intend to thank me?"

<"Yes! Yes! Let us knock on the wall now. The jailer won't hear.""I understand," answered Sara, in a low tone; and there was a sound as if she had gulped down something which rose in her throat. "I understand."

"That I really was a princess," said Sara, "and could do anything-- anything I liked."


"That is because it makes you think of something else," said Sara, wrapping the coverlet round her until only her small dark face was to be seen looking out of it. "I've noticed this. What you have to do with your mind, when your body is miserable, is to make it think of something else."





ҦDzɽնξܾ335Ԫչ ʩҪⲢ "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." ϸ

Խи¿ţ1986꣬հйĶپ飿| ̵2018|жǰϦͻפ

ҦDzضϼֵ2 ƿơʦֵ۷壡 And this was what he was "supposing" at that very moment. ϸ

ҦDzܷղ!ݳչ뿴ɶ?ȫ| ̵2018|־ӱɹںլɷ̫