Аня із Зелених Мезонінів

Chapter XXXI. Where the Brook and River Meet

           AndsomehowIdon’twanttousebigwordsanymore.It’salmostapity,isn’tit,nowthatI’mreallygrowingbigenoughtosaythemifIdidwantto.It’sfuntobealmostgrownupinsomeways,butit’snotthekindoffunIexpected,Marilla.There’ssomuchtolearnanddoandthinkthatthereisn’ttimeforbigwords.Besides,MissStacysaystheshortonesaremuchstrongerandbetter.Shemakesuswriteallouressaysassimplyaspossible.Itwashardatfirst.IwassousedtocrowdinginallthefinebigwordsIcouldthinkof—andIthoughtofanynumberofthem.ButI’vegotusedtoitnowandIseeit’ssomuchbetter.”

           “Whathasbecomeofyourstoryclub?Ihaven’theardyouspeakofitforalongtime.”

           “Thestoryclubisn’tinexistenceanylonger.Wehadn’ttimeforit—andanyhowIthinkwehadgottiredofit.Itwassillytobewritingaboutloveandmurderandelopementsandmysteries.MissStacysometimeshasuswriteastoryfortrainingincomposition,butshewon’tletuswriteanythingbutwhatmighthappeninAvonleainourownlives,andshecriticizesitverysharplyandmakesuscriticizeourowntoo.IneverthoughtmycompositionshadsomanyfaultsuntilIbegantolookforthemmyself.IfeltsoashamedIwantedtogiveupaltogether,butMissStacysaidIcouldlearntowritewellifIonlytrainedmyselftobemyownseverestcritic.AndsoIamtryingto.”

           “You’veonlytwomoremonthsbeforetheEntrance,”saidMarilla.“Doyouthinkyou’llbeabletogetthrough?”

           Anneshivered.

           “Idon’tknow

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