“said Marilla. Anne was standing in the gable room, looking solemnly at three new dresses spread out on the bed. One was of snuffy colored gingham which Marilla had been tempted to buy from a peddler the preceding summer because it looked so serviceable; one was of black-and-white checked sateen which she had picked up at a bargain counter in the winter; and one was a stiff print of an ugly blue shade which she had purchased that week at a Carmody store. She had made them up herself, and they we...re all made alike—plain skirts fulled tightly to plain waists, with sleeves as plain as waist and skirt and tight as sleeves could be. “I’ll imagine that I like them,” said Anne soberly. “I don’t want you to imagine it,” said Marilla, offended. “Oh, I can see you don’t like the dresses! What is the matter with them? Aren’t they neat and clean and new?” “Yes.” “Then why don’t you like them?” “They’re—they’re not—pretty,” said Anne reluctantly. “Pretty!”MoreLessRead More Read Less
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