"what are you thinking about, little girl?"
"just thinking," francie said.
"sometimes i see you sitting on the gutter curb for hours. what do you think of then?"
"nothing. i just tell myself stories."
miss tynmore pointed at her sternly. "little girl, you'll be a story writer when you grow up." it was a command rather than a statement.
"yes ma'am," agreed francie out of politeness.
2 comments:
Where is this from? Lovely.
it's from the book a tree grows in brooklyn by betty smith.
and lovely is one of my favorite words.
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