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.

 

The

Happy

Visitor

by Helen Wright

 

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