The Happy Visitor

 

Jessie remembers differently

  When I go in there the room smells funny, and hot, and I tell myself that this time I am going to be a good sister, and take his poor thin hand, and stroke his hot face, but then he says something hateful and I can’t hold it back, I want to squeeze his miserable little cheeks until they have crumbled to nothing.

I want to be good like the little children in books, Little Nell and Tiny Tim or Sara Crewe, giving her only bread to the starving child. But I am a disagreeable child and when Mother sends me to our room I pinch my own fat cheeks and cry.

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The two sisters were the nicest of all, because they were the ones who took the time to read him their books, play cards with him, and perform talent shows for him. Jessie, the youngest one, could stand on her head, balance a ball on one nose, and knew six card tricks.

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