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- Люси Мод Монтгомери
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- Аня из Зелёных Мезонинов
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- Стр. 64/212
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Mrs
.
Barry
,
not
hearing
or
not
comprehending
,
merely
shook
hands
and
said
kindly
:
“
How
are
you
?
”
“
I
am
well
in
body
although
considerable
rumpled
up
in
spirit
,
thank
you
ma
’
am
,
”
said
Anne
gravely
.
Then
aside
to
Marilla
in
an
audible
whisper
,
“
There
wasn
’
t
anything
startling
in
that
,
was
there
,
Marilla
?
”
Diana
was
sitting
on
the
sofa
,
reading
a
book
which
she
dropped
when
the
callers
entered
.
She
was
a
very
pretty
little
girl
,
with
her
mother
’
s
black
eyes
and
hair
,
and
rosy
cheeks
,
and
the
merry
expression
which
was
her
inheritance
from
her
father
.
“
This
is
my
little
girl
Diana
,
”
said
Mrs
.
Barry
.
“
Diana
,
you
might
take
Anne
out
into
the
garden
and
show
her
your
flowers
.
It
will
be
better
for
you
than
straining
your
eyes
over
that
book
.
She
reads
entirely
too
much
—
”
this
to
Marilla
as
the
little
girls
went
out
—
“
and
I
can
’
t
prevent
her
,
for
her
father
aids
and
abets
her
.
She
’
s
always
poring
over
a
book
.
I
’
m
glad
she
has
the
prospect
of
a
playmate
—
perhaps
it
will
take
her
more
out
-
of
-
doors
.
”
Outside
in
the
garden
,
which
was
full
of
mellow
sunset
light
streaming
through
the
dark
old
firs
to
the
west
of
it
,
stood
Anne
and
Diana
,
gazing
bashfully
at
each
other
over
a
clump
of
gorgeous
tiger
lilies
.
The
Barry
garden
was
a
bowery
wilderness
of
flowers
which
would
have
delighted
Anne
’
s
heart
at
any
time
less
fraught
with
destiny
.
It
was
encircled
by
huge
old
willows
and
tall
firs
,
beneath
which
flourished
flowers
that
loved
the
shade
.
Prim
,
right
-
angled
paths
neatly
bordered
with
clamshells
,
intersected
it
like
moist
red
ribbons
and
in
the
beds
between
old
-
fashioned
flowers
ran
riot
.
There
were
rosy
bleeding
-
hearts
and
great
splendid
crimson
peonies
;
white
,
fragrant
narcissi
and
thorny
,
sweet
Scotch
roses
;
pink
and
blue
and
white
columbines
and
lilac
-
tinted
Bouncing
Bets
;
clumps
of
southernwood
and
ribbon
grass
and
mint
;
purple
Adam
-
and
-
Eve
,
daffodils
,
and
masses
of
sweet
clover
white
with
its
delicate
,
fragrant
,
feathery
sprays
;
scarlet
lightning
that
shot
its
fiery
lances
over
prim
white
musk
-
flowers
;
a
garden
it
was
where
sunshine
lingered
and
bees
hummed
,
and
winds
,
beguiled
into
loitering
,
purred
and
rustled
.
“
Oh
,
Diana
,
”
said
Anne
at
last
,
clasping
her
hands
and
speaking
almost
in
a
whisper
,
“
oh
,
do
you
think
you
can
like
me
a
little
—
enough
to
be
my
bosom
friend
?
”
Diana
laughed
.
Diana
always
laughed
before
she
spoke
.