Looks means so much more to a gal."
"But she's smart."
By these words--you can see that I was young--I was exalted, not cast
down. And for five years, remembering them, I had been proud of being
"smart." But now, in the moment of revelation, the law of sex was laid
upon me, and the thought failed to bring its accustomed comfort. Smart?
Perhaps. But--homely!
With feet as light as my heart was heavy because of Billy's taunt, I flew
home and ran up to my room. I had there a tiny mirror, about two-thirds of
which had fallen from its frame. I may before that day have taken in it
brief, uncritical glimpses at my face, but they had not led to self-
analysis. Now, with beating heart and solemn earnestness, I balanced a
chair against the door--there was no lock--and looked long and unlovingly
at my reflected image.
I saw many freckles, a nose too small, ears too big, honest eyes, hair
which was an undecided brown; in short, an ordinary wind-blown little
prairie girl. Perhaps I was not so ill-looking, nor Janey so pretty, as
Billy affected to think, but no such comforting conclusion then came to
me. Sorrow fronted me in the glass.
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