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Rinehart, Mary Roberts, 1876-1958

"Bab: a Sub-Deb"

"
At this indelacate speach I ordered her out of the room, but she only
tucked the covers in and asked me if I had brushed my teeth.
"You know," she said, "that you'll be coming to me for money when you
run out, Miss Bab, as you've always done, and expecting me to patch and
mend and make over your old things, when I've got my hands full anyhow.
And you with a Fortune fritered away."
"I wish to think, Hannah," I said in a plaintive tone. "Please go away."
But she came and stood over me.
"Now you're going to be a good girl this Summer and not give any
trouble, aren't you?" she asked. "Because we're upset enough as it is,
and your poor mother most distracted, without you're cutting loose as
usual and driving everybody crazy."
I sat up in bed, forgetful that the window was now open for the night,
and that I was visable from the Gray's in my ROBE DE NUIT.
"Whose distracted about what?" I asked.
But Hannah would say no more, and left me a pray to doubt and fear.
Alas, Hannah was right. There was something wrong in the house. Coming
home as I had done, full of the joy of no rising bell or French grammar,
or meat pie on Mondays from Sunday's roast, I had noticed nothing.
I fear I am one who lives for the Day only, and as such I beleive that
when people smile they are happy, forgetfull that to often a smile
conceals an aching and tempestuous Void within.
Now I was to learn that the demon Strife had entered my domacile, there
to make his--or her--home.


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