Helen's head, always drooping, sank a little lower as she finished

this sentence. I saw by her look she wished no longer to talk to

me, but rather to converse with her own thoughts. She was not

allowed much time for meditation: a monitor, a great rough girl,

presently came up, exclaiming in a strong Cumberland accent "Helen Burns, if you don't go and put your drawer in order, and fold

up your work this minute, I'll tell Miss Scatcherd to come and look

at it!"

Helen sighed as her reverie fled, and getting up, obeyed the monitor

without reply as without delay.




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