At any rate, you would know, if you had known Terence. And
when she got to be a few years older, say seven or eight--
Well, it is perfectly impossible for me to tell you how good and
lovely Kathleen was. It is all very well to try to describe
snow-capped mountains at sunrise, or a storm at sea, or moonlight at
Niagara, or a prairie on fire, or anything of that sort, but nobody
could tell you how good and lovely Kathleen was, so that you could
understand it. I suppose she was a good deal the sort of child that
you would be if you didn't put your elbows on the table, or your spoon
in your mouth, or slam the doors, or cry when your hair is combed, or
tease for things that you ought not to have, or whisper in company, or
talk out loud when there are older persons present, or leave your
playthings about when you are done with them, or get your clothes
soiled when you play out of doors, or want to play at all when you
ought to study your lessons, or ask to be allowed to sit up after
bed-time, or bite your nails, or cut your bread, or leave your spoon
in your cup instead of in your saucer, or take the biggest apple.
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