THE UNFINISHED SENTENCE
Was it strange that I was in a pretty state of mind? Was it to be wondered at that I hardly knew if I was standing on my head or heels?
When I got into my room I slammed the door, and turned the key. I tore my hat off and threw it on to the bed. I could have cried; but I make it a rule never to cry—or hardly ever. Besides, I was only too well aware that if I once started I never should leave off; and then I should have jumped from the frying-pan into the fire, with a vengeance. They would tear me to pieces if I did not make haste and get the rubbish they wanted.
I went to the looking-glass. There was no mistake about it, I did look hideous. There was some excuse for some of the things they said. It has always been a conviction of mine that if they would let me dr
