|
||||||||
Thats it, Mr. Gibson! you do not treat her like your own child. But in the midst of this wrangle Molly stole out, and went in search of Cynthia. She thought she bore an olive-branch of healing in the sound of her fathers just spoken words: I do love her almost as if she were my own child. But Cynthia was locked into her room, and refused to open the door. Open to me, please, pleaded Molly. I have something to say to youI want to see youdo open! No! said Cynthia. Not now. I am busy. Leave me alone. I dont want to hear what you have got to say. I dont want to see you. By-and-by we shall meet, and then Molly stood quite quietly, wondering what new words of more persuasion she could use. In a minute or two Cynthia called out, Are you there still, Molly? and when Molly answered Yes, and hoped for a relenting, the same hard, metallic voice, telling of resolution and repression, spoke out, Go away. I cannot bear the feeling of your being therewaiting and listening. Go downstairsout of the houseanywhere away. It is the most you can do for me now. |
||||||||
|
||||||||
|
||||||||
Copyright: All texts on Bibliomania are © Bibliomania.com Ltd, and may not be reproduced in any form without our written permission. See our FAQ for more details. | ||||||||