Поллианна
An Accident
"Isshehurt—bad?"Theoldman’svoiceshook.
"Thereain’tnotellin’,"sobbedNancy. "Shelaybackthatwhitean’stillshemighteasybedead; butMissPollysaidshewa’n’tdead—an’MissPollyhadoughterknow,ifanyonewould—shekeptupsuchalistenin’an’afeelin’forherheartbeatsan’herbreath!"
"Couldn’tyetellanythin’whatitdonetoher?—that—that—"OldTom’sfaceworkedconvulsively.
Nancy’slipsrelaxedalittle.
"IwishyeWOULDcallitsomethin’,Mr.Toman’somethin’goodan’strong,too. Dratit! Terthinkofitsrunnin’downourlittlegirl! Ialwayshatedtheevil-smellin’things,anyhow—Idid,Idid!"
"Butwhereisshehurt?"
"Idon’tknow,Idon’tknow,"moanedNancy. "There’salittlecutonherblessedhead,but‘tain’tbad—thatain’t—MissPollysays. Shesaysshe’safraidit’sinfernallyshe’shurt."
AfaintflickercameintoOldTom’seyes.
"Iguessyoumeaninternally,Nancy,"hesaiddryly. "She’shurtinfernally,allright—plaguetakethatautymobile! —butIdon’tguessMissPolly’dbeusin’thatword,allthesame."
