You'll want
clothes, and books, and beaux, and education, and you ought
to have them. They're your right. You ought to have them!"
Suddenly Molly Brandeis' arms were folded on the table, and
her head came down on her arms and she was crying, quietly,
horribly, as a man cries. Fanny stared at her a moment in
unbelief. She had not seen her mother cry since the day of
Ferdinand Brandeis' death. She scrambled out of her chair
and thrust her head down next her mother's, so that her hot,
smooth cheek touched the wet, cold one. "Mother, don't!
Don't Molly dearie. I can't bear it. I'm going to cry too.
Do you think I care for old dresses and things? I should
say not. It's going to be fun going without things. It'll
be like having a secret or something. Now stop, and let's
talk about it."
Molly Brandeis wiped her eyes, and sat up, and smiled. It
was a watery and wavering smile, but it showed that she was
mistress of herself again.
"No," she said, "we just won't talk about it any more. I'm
tired, that's what's the matter with me, and I haven't sense
enough to know it.
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