It looked just like what she expected, though Daisy had not
got accustomed yet to the conditions of such rooms. Just now,
she hardly saw anything but Molly. Her eyes wandering over the
strange place, were presently caught by the cripple, sitting
crouching in a corner of the room. It was all miserably
desolate. The paper shields kept out the light of the
sunbeams; and though the place was tolerably clean, it had a
close, musty, disagreeable, shut-up smell. But all Daisy
thought of at first was the cripple. She went a little towards
her.
"How do you do, Molly?" her little soft voice said. Molly
looked glum, and spoke never a word.
"I have been waiting to see you," Daisy said, advancing a step
nearer — "and you did not come out. I was afraid you were
sick."
One of Molly's grunts came here. Daisy could not tell what it
meant.
"_Are_ you sick, Molly?"
"It's me and not you" — said the cripple, morosely.
"Oh, I am sorry!" said Daisy, tenderly. "I want to bring in
something for you —"
She ran away for her basket. Coming back, she left the door
open to let in the sweet air and sun.
"What is the matter with you, Molly?"
The cripple made no answer, not even a grunt; her eyes were
fastened on the basket.
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