for her. Here in the attic—with the cold night outside— with the afternoon in the sloppy streets barely passed—with the memory of the awful unfed look in the beggar child’s eyes not yet faded—this simple, cheerful thing had happened like a thing of magic.
She caught her breath.
“Somehow, something always happens,” she cried, “just before things get to the very worst. It is as if the Magic did it. If I could only just
for her. Here in the attic—with the cold night outside— with the afternoon in the sloppy streets barely passed—with the memory of the awful unfed look in the beggar child’s eyes not yet faded—this simple, cheerful thing had happened like a thing of magic.
She caught her breath.
“Somehow, something always happens,” she cried, “just before things get to the very worst. It is as if the Magic did it. If I could only just
