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- Луиза Мэй Олкотт
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"
What
did
you
think
of
?
"
"
Handsome
faces
—
eyes
particularly
,
"
answered
Meg
,
smiling
to
herself
in
the
dark
.
"
What
color
do
you
like
best
?
"
"
Brown
,
that
is
,
sometimes
.
Blue
are
lovely
.
"
Jo
laughed
,
and
Meg
sharply
ordered
her
not
to
talk
,
then
amiably
promised
to
make
her
hair
curl
,
and
fell
asleep
to
dream
of
living
in
her
castle
in
the
air
.
The
clocks
were
striking
midnight
and
the
rooms
were
very
still
as
a
figure
glided
quietly
from
bed
to
bed
,
smoothing
a
coverlet
here
,
settling
a
pillow
there
,
and
pausing
to
look
long
and
tenderly
at
each
unconscious
face
,
to
kiss
each
with
lips
that
mutely
blessed
,
and
to
pray
the
fervent
prayers
which
only
mothers
utter
.
As
she
lifted
the
curtain
to
look
out
into
the
dreary
night
,
the
moon
broke
suddenly
from
behind
the
clouds
and
shone
upon
her
like
a
bright
,
benignant
face
,
which
seemed
to
whisper
in
the
silence
,
"
Be
comforted
,
dear
soul
!
There
is
always
light
behind
the
clouds
.
"
"
November
is
the
most
disagreeable
month
in
the
whole
year
,
"
said
Margaret
,
standing
at
the
window
one
dull
afternoon
,
looking
out
at
the
frostbitten
garden
.
"
That
’
s
the
reason
I
was
born
in
it
,
"
observed
Jo
pensively
,
quite
unconscious
of
the
blot
on
her
nose
.
"
If
something
very
pleasant
should
happen
now
,
we
should
think
it
a
delightful
month
,
"
said
Beth
,
who
took
a
hopeful
view
of
everything
,
even
November
.
"
I
dare
say
,
but
nothing
pleasant
ever
does
happen
in
this
family
,
"
said
Meg
,
who
was
out
of
sorts
.
"
We
go
grubbing
along
day
after
day
,
without
a
bit
of
change
,
and
very
little
fun
.
We
might
as
well
be
in
a
treadmill
.
"
