The rush of relief and gratitude and happiness shook her.
Given _carte blanche_ to design a special angel from Heaven to come down
and give her just the comfort and encouragement she wanted, she couldn't
have imagined one so good as Miss Gibbons,--with those keen
straight-looking eyes that had observed her fellow citizens of
Centropolis for the last half-century or so, not in vain; with her
courageous common sense, and with that dry, cool, astringent manner,
which lay with a pleasant healing sting on the lacerations of Rose's
soul.
For a while she just sat still and tried to get the catch out of her
breathing. At last, when she thought she could trust her voice not to
break absurdly, she smiled and said:
"What sort of hat do you want me to trim? I mean, for what sort of
person?"
"What sort of person!" echoed Miss Gibbons and gave Rose a rather keen
look. "Why," she said, after hesitating a moment, "there's a silly old
maid in this town. She ain't more than ten years younger than I am, but
her hair's stayed sort of fluffy and yellow, and she's kept part of her
looks, though not near as much of them as she thinks.
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