The Happy Visitor |
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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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| back | Helen, the older one, was more serious. She drew him pictures of the world outside and taught him all about its strange animals and customs. She knew how to play the flute and would play him wonderful songs hour after hour. I could stay here forever, he thought.
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