She was sitting at a table covered with text books and exercises, but the closely written sheets of paper before her had no apparent connection with studies or school work. Anne colored, and thrust her writing out of sight under some school compositions. Nothing very dreadful. I was just trying to write out some of my thoughts, as Professor Hamilton advised me, but I couldn't get them to please me. They seem so still and foolish directly they're written down on white paper with black ink.
Fancies are like shadows. . .
But perhaps I'll learn the secret some day if I keep on trying. I haven't a great many spare moments, you know. No, not all. Anthony Pye doesn't and WON'T like me. What is worse, he doesn't respect me. .