For the first time Mona learns she is not like this well-regulated young woman. She falls lamentably short of such excellence. She cannot bring herself to think the world of those she loves well lost for any consideration whatever. And after all—this horrid condition—it would be over in a moment. And she could run home with the coveted paper, and bathe her face in sweet cold water. And then again she shudders. Could she bathe the remembrance of the insult from her heart?,
"What a shame!" says Mona, angrily. Then she changes her note, and says, with a soft, low, mocking laugh, "How I pity you!",
"I am sorry I can tell you nothing," says Mona, shaking her head. "I was never in this wood before; I know nothing of it.".
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