Аня із Зелених Мезонінів

Chapter XXXVII. The Reaper Whose Name Is Death

           IsupposeI’dbettergoandhaveitover.I’llbemorethanthankfulifthemancangivemetherightkindofglassestosuitmyeyes.Youwon’tmindstayingherealonewhileI’maway,willyou?Martinwillhavetodrivemeinandthere’sironingandbakingtodo.”

           “Ishallbeallright.Dianawillcomeoverforcompanyforme.Ishallattendtotheironingandbakingbeautifully—youneedn’tfearthatI’llstarchthehandkerchiefsorflavorthecakewithliniment.”

           Marillalaughed.

           “Whatagirlyouwereformakingmistakesinthemdays,Anne.Youwerealwaysgettingintoscrapes.Ididusetothinkyouwerepossessed.Doyoumindthetimeyoudyedyourhair?”

           “Yes,indeed.Ishallneverforgetit,”smiledAnne,touchingtheheavybraidofhairthatwaswoundabouthershapelyhead.“IlaughalittlenowsometimeswhenIthinkwhataworrymyhairusedtobetome—butIdon’tlaughmuch,becauseitwasaveryrealtroublethen.Ididsufferterriblyovermyhairandmyfreckles.Myfrecklesarereallygone;andpeopleareniceenoughtotellmemyhairisauburnnow—allbutJosiePye.Sheinformedmeyesterdaythatshereallythoughtitwasredderthanever,oratleastmyblackdressmadeitlookredder,andsheaskedmeifpeoplewhohadredhairevergotusedtohavingit.Marilla,I’vealmostdecidedtogiveuptryingtolikeJosiePye.I’vemadewhatIwouldoncehavecalledaheroicefforttolikeher,butJosiePyewon’tbeliked.”

           “JosieisaPye,”saidMarillasharply,“soshecan’thelpbeingdisagreeable

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