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"You are a beggar," said Miss Minchin, her temper rising at the recollection of what all this meant. "It appears that you have no relations and no home, and no one to take care of you." For a moment the thin, pale little face twitched, but Sara again said nothing. "What are you staring at?" demanded Miss Minchin, sharply. "Are you so stupid that you cannot understand?
"I have always been very fond of you," she said. Then Sara fixed her eyes upon her and gave her one of her odd looks. "Have you?" she answered. "Yes," said Miss Minchin. "Amelia and I have always said you were the cleverest child we had with us, and I am sure we could make you happy as a parlor boarder."
Minchin, as you are aware," resumed Langholm, "was, like his wife, an Australian by birth. Had he many Australian friends here in London?" "None at all," replied Mr. Crofts, "that I am aware of." "Nor anywhere else in the country, think you?" "Not that I remember." "Not in the north of England, for example?" Thus led, Mr.
I do not think it ever dawned upon his mind that common honesty was a virtue in which he himself was wanting. As to Mrs. Minchin's tales on this subject but Mrs. Minchin's tales were not to be relied upon. It was about this time that Mrs. Minchin and the bride quarrelled.
But, as it was, she felt a flush rising on her cheeks. Miss Minchin was a very severe and imposing person, and she seemed so absolutely sure that Sara knew nothing whatever of French that she felt as if it would be almost rude to correct her. The truth was that Sara could not remember the time when she had not seemed to know French. Her father had often spoken it to her when she had been a baby.
She always had plenty to eat!" "Of of course," agreed Miss Amelia, humbly, alarmed to find that she had, as usual, said the wrong thing. "There is something very disagreeable in seeing that sort of thing in a child of her age," said Miss Minchin, with haughty vagueness. "What sort of thing?" Miss Amelia ventured.
It was Alexander Minchin with mutton-chop whiskers, his hair parted in the middle, and the kind of pin in the kind of tie which had been practically obsolete for years; it was none the less indubitably and indisputably Alexander Minchin. And indeed that fact alone was enough to shake Rachel's nerves; her discovery had all the shock of an unwelcome encounter with the living.
She went back to her seat and opened the book. She looked at the first page with a grave face. She knew it would be rude to smile, and she was very determined not to be rude. But it was very odd to find herself expected to study a page which told her that "le pere" meant "the father," and "la mere" meant "the mother." Miss Minchin glanced toward her scrutinizingly.
Ermengarde opened her wet eyes wide. "Why, it was you who were different!" she cried. "You didn't want to talk to me. I didn't know what to do. It was you who were different after I came back." Sara thought a moment. She saw she had made a mistake. "I AM different," she explained, "though not in the way you think. Miss Minchin does not want me to talk to the girls.
"It might almost be called defiance," answered Miss Minchin, feeling annoyed because she knew the thing she resented was nothing like defiance, and she did not know what other unpleasant term to use. "The spirit and will of any other child would have been entirely humbled and broken by by the changes she has had to submit to.
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