But later on, when the house was quiet, I got up and lit
my lamp. Then I spent hours gazing at my own reflection in the glass.
Henceforth the mirror became my confidant. It procured me the one
happiness of my childhood. When I was indoors I passed most of my time
practising smiles, and forming my expression. I was seized with terror
lest I should lose the gift that was worth "a pocketful of gold."
I avoided the wild and noisy games of other girls for fear of getting
scratched. Once, however, I was playing with some of my school friends
in a courtyard. We were swinging on the shafts of a cart when I fell and
ran a nail into my cheek. The pain was nothing compared to the thought
of a permanent mark. I was depressed for months, until one day I heard a
teacher say that the mark was all but gone--a mere beauty spot.
When I sat before the looking-glass, I only thought of the future.
Childhood seemed to me a long, tiresome journey that must be got through
before I reached the goal of riches, which to me meant happiness.
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