She tolerated spitballs in her curly hair and had to buy a new backpack when hers was stolen. No matter how often she came across this phase in love stories, there was never anything explanatory: as if all human beings perfectly understood. Don’t you think that the shade of my hair is lovely?” “There is nothing particular the matter with the shade,” Anna answered, “but it is not nearly so becoming as before you touched it. "Do you call this frantic glee happiness?" "It's all the happiness I have known for years," returned the widow, becoming suddenly calm, "and it's short-lived enough, as you perceive. Squire and master.
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