And
at last she showed her clause.
"Don't fool yourself for a minute," she said. "This
literary pose has not fooled anybody. Either you're doing it to
apear Interesting, or you've done somthing you're scared about.
Which is it?"
I refused to reply.
"Because if it's the first, and you're trying to look
literary, you are going about it wrong," she said. "Real
Literary People don't go round mooning and talking about the
ople sea."
I saw mother had been talking, and I drew myself up.
"They look and act like other people," said Leila, going to
the bureau and spilling Powder all over the place. "Look at
Beecher."
"Beecher!" I cried, with a thrill that started inside my
elbows. (I have read this to one or two of the girls, and they
say there is no such thrill. But not all people act alike under
the influence of emotion, and mine is in my Arms, as stated.)
"The playwright," Sis said. "He's staying next door. And if
he does any languishing it is not by himself."
There may be some who have for a long time had an Ideal,
but without hoping ever to meet him, and then suddenly learning
that he is nearby, with indeed but a wall or two between, can be
calm and cool.
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