First, though my reason is convinced about Father, there is something
in me that just won't believe it, and that keeps making me hope, and
be passive in life, until he comes. I say nothing about it to anybody,
because the proof is too great against him, and I suppose it is really
more daughterly love than hope. Anyway, it is a precious feeling to
me.
But one thing that troubles me is the way one friend's sorrow can
throw its shadow over the lives of many others. It troubles me that
Tony and Roxanne and the Colonel and some of the others are distressed
about me, especially Tony. He came to see me the morning after Belle
had told me all about his scouting out the secret; and if it hadn't
been such an occasion I would have had to laugh at the collapsed way
he looked, like he would fall to pieces if you touched him even very
gently. His grin was so entirely gone that his mouth looked only the
size of an ordinary human being's, and his eyes were shut down so
dolefully that they were funnier than ever.
"Go on, Bubble, and shake me," he said, with a comical sadness that
was hard to bear with proper respect.
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