«The beggar girl was still huddled up in the corner of the step. She looked frightful in her wet and dirty rags. She was staring straight before her with a stupid look of suffering, and Sara saw her suddenly draw the back of her roughened black hand across her eyes to rub away the tears which seemed to have surprised her by forcing their way from under the lids. She was muttering to herself.
Sara opened the paper bag and took out one of the hot buns, which had already warmed her own cold hands a little.
“See”, she said, putting the bun in the ragged lap, “this is nice and hot. Eat it, and you will not feel so hungry.”
The child started and stared up at her, as if such sudden, amazing good luck almost frightened her; then she snatched up the bun and begun to cram it into her mouth with great wolfish bites.
“Oh, my! Oh, my!” Sara heard her say hoarsely, in wild delight. “Oh, my!”
Sara took out three more buns and put them down.
The sound in the hoarse, ravenous voice was awful.
“She is hungrier than I am,” she said to herself. “She’s starving.” But her hand trembled when she put down the fourth bun. “I’m not starving,” she said – and put down the fifth.
The little ravening London savage was still snatching and devouring when she turned away. She was too ravenous to give thanks, even if she had ever been taught politeness – which she had not. She was only a poor little wild animal.
“Good-bye,” said Sara.
When she reached the other side of the street she looked back. The child had a bun in each hand, and had stopped in the middle of a bite to watch her. Sara gave a little nod, and the child, after another stare a curious lingering stare – jerked her shaggy head in response, and until Sara was out of sight she did not take another bite or even finish the one she had begun.
At the moment the backer-woman looked out of her shop window.
“Well, I never!” She exclaimed. “If that young ‘un hasn’t given her buns to a beggar child! It wasn’t because she didn’t want them, either. Well, well, she looked hungry enough. I’d give something to know what she did it for.”»
Sara opened the paper bag and took out one of the hot buns, which had already warmed her own cold hands a little.
“See”, she said, putting the bun in the ragged lap, “this is nice and hot. Eat it, and you will not feel so hungry.”
The child started and stared up at her, as if such sudden, amazing good luck almost frightened her; then she snatched up the bun and begun to cram it into her mouth with great wolfish bites.
“Oh, my! Oh, my!” Sara heard her say hoarsely, in wild delight. “Oh, my!”
Sara took out three more buns and put them down.
The sound in the hoarse, ravenous voice was awful.
“She is hungrier than I am,” she said to herself. “She’s starving.” But her hand trembled when she put down the fourth bun. “I’m not starving,” she said – and put down the fifth.
The little ravening London savage was still snatching and devouring when she turned away. She was too ravenous to give thanks, even if she had ever been taught politeness – which she had not. She was only a poor little wild animal.
“Good-bye,” said Sara.
When she reached the other side of the street she looked back. The child had a bun in each hand, and had stopped in the middle of a bite to watch her. Sara gave a little nod, and the child, after another stare a curious lingering stare – jerked her shaggy head in response, and until Sara was out of sight she did not take another bite or even finish the one she had begun.
At the moment the backer-woman looked out of her shop window.
“Well, I never!” She exclaimed. “If that young ‘un hasn’t given her buns to a beggar child! It wasn’t because she didn’t want them, either. Well, well, she looked hungry enough. I’d give something to know what she did it for.”»
Burnett, Frances Hodgson, A Little Princess, Penguin Popular Classics
Frances Hodgson Burnett (1849-1924) was born in Manchester, England, on November 24, 1849 as Francis Eliza Hodgson. Her first widely known work was a dialect story "Surly Tim's Trouble" which appeared in Scribner's Magazine in 1872.
Sem comentários:
Enviar um comentário