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2020-08-06 06:35:48  Դձ
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Ϸģ

Ϸַ:a g 9 559 v i p." Lottle remembered that she had promised, but she preferred to lift up her voice.

"No--ye-es!" she said. "But it is too short for her. She has only the old black velvet, and she has outgrown it."

Ϸģ廭

"What did you say?"

It was dark when she reached the square where the Select Seminary was situated. The lights in the houses were all lighted. The blinds were not yet drawn in the windows of the room where she nearly always caught glimpses of members of the Large Family. Frequently at this hour she could see the gentleman she called Mr. Montmorency sitting in a big chair, with a small swarm round him, talking, laughing, perching on the arms of his seat or on his knees or leaning against them. This evening the swarm was about him, but he was not seated. On the contrary, there was a good deal of excitement going on. It was evident that a journey was to be taken, and it was Mr. Montmorency who was to take it. A brougham stood before the door, and a big portmanteau had been strapped upon it. The children were dancing about, chattering and hanging on to their father. The pretty rosy mother was standing near him, talking as if she was asking final questions. Sara paused a moment to see the little ones lifted up and kissed and the bigger ones bent over and kissed also.

Lottle Legh worshipped her to such an extent that if Sara had not been a motherly person, she would have found her tiresome. Lottie had been sent to school by a rather flighty young papa who could not imagine what else to do with her. Her young mother had died, and as the child had been treated like a favorite doll or a very spoiled pet monkey or lap dog ever since the first hour of her life, she was a very appalling little creature. When she wanted anything or did not want anything she wept and howled; and, as she always wanted the things she could not have, and did not want the things that were best for her, her shrill little voice was usually to be heard uplifted in wails in one part of the house or another.

Ϸģ ɻ

"When Monsieur Dufarge comes," she thought, "I can make him understand."

"I wonder who the little girl is," she thought--"the little girl he is going to look for."

ϷģйҶ ۻ

"Who is Emily?" she inquired.

"People you never speak to can't ask you questions like that," she said; "and I'm sure the Indian gentleman wouldn't even if he was quite intimate with you. I am fond of him."

<"Have you a--a pain?" Ermengarde ventured."A' accident, miss," she fluttered respectfully. "Is it?"

Miss Minchin came into the room, accompanied by a sharp-featured, dry little gentleman, who looked rather disturbed. Miss Minchin herself also looked rather disturbed, it must be admitted, and she gazed at the dry little gentleman with an irritated and puzzled expression.

Ϸģͻ

It was so delightful that they caught each other's hands and a sudden light sprang into Sara's eyes.

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Ϸ˼eBay40.5ԪStubHubƱҵ "My eye, Miss Sara!" gasped Becky again. ϸ

ɹ40 йڹͻ50ţ| ̵2018|˹֧

Ϸ콻5ڽ巢״λ Ա She looked after the little draggled far-away figure and felt more disturbed in her usually comfortable mind than she had felt for many a day. ϸ

ϷĸŮǾߺҵˣڲ ݱ| ̵2018|㽭ɽһû³ɹ4մԱ
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