"I'm sure I don't know," answered Florence. "It's one of Polly's
ideas, or rather, Aunt Jane's."
"Aunt Jane ought to be ganched!" remarked Alan, with calm
disrespect; for Polly made no secret of Aunt Jane's eccentricities,
and they were a common subject of discussion among the V.
"I know it," confessed Polly, filled with shame at the thought of
having such a relative.
"Come, Polly, what is the use of reading this poky old book?"
urged Molly. "'T isn't doing any of us the least bit of good. I've
listened just as hard as I could, and I'm sure I haven't any idea
what it's all about, it's told in such a queer way."
Molly's use of the word "queer" said more than a dozen lesser
adjectives. She had a singularly expressive manner of drawing it
out, that threw untold meaning into its simple form. Alan used to
declare that, if Molly once pronounced anything queer, its
reputation was spoiled, as far as her hearers were concerned. This
time Jean upheld her.
"It is very poky," she announced, as she pulled a bit of hair out
from one of the holes in the cushion, and fell to picking it to
pieces. "I think it's too warm weather for it, Polly. I don't care
what Aunt Jane says; I'm not going to waste these glorious summer
days over such stuff.
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