"
"We've all got to die," said Sara Ray solemnly, but with a certain
relish. It was as if she enjoyed looking forward to something in
which nothing, neither an unsympathetic mother, nor the cruel fate
which had made her a colourless little nonentity, could prevent
her from being the chief performer.
"I sometimes think," said Cecily, rather wearily, "that it isn't
so dreadful to die young as I used to suppose."
She prefaced her remark with a slight cough, as she had been all
too apt to do of late, for the remnants of the cold she had caught
the night we were lost in the storm still clung to her.
"Don't talk such nonsense, Cecily," cried the Story Girl with
unwonted sharpness, a sharpness we all understood. All of us, in
our hearts, though we never spoke of it to each other, thought
Cecily was not as well as she ought to be that spring, and we
hated to hear anything said which seemed in any way to touch or
acknowledge the tiny, faint shadow which now and again showed
itself dimly athwart our sunshine.
"Well, it was you began talking of being dead," said Felicity
angrily. "I don't think it's right to talk of such things.
Cecily, are you sure your feet ain't damp? We ought to go in
anyhow--it's too chilly out here for you."
"You girls had better go," said Dan, "but I ain't going in till
old Isaac Frewen goes.
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