Meg: Oh dear, how hard it does seem to take up our packs and go
on. We shouldn’t enjoy ourselves half so much as we do now. But it does seem so
nice to have little suppers and bouquets, and go to parties, and drive home,
and read and rest, and not work. It’s like other people, you know, and I always
envy girls who do such things, I’m so fond of luxury. And we can’t have it.
Where’s the use of looking nice, when no one sees me but those cross midgets,
and no one cares whether I’m pretty or not? I shall have to toil and moil all
my days, with only little bits of fun now and then, and get old and ugly and
sour, because I’m poor and can’t enjoy my life as other girls do. It’s a shame!
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