"But I would do it again, and
twice as much, for freedom. Think of being cooped up in four stifling
walls, shut in from the blessed sunshine and fresh air of heaven. I tell
you that man would have kept me there until now, and should have gone
stark, staring mad in half the time. Oh, dear!" cried Mollie,
impatiently, "I wish I was a gypsy, free and happy, to wander about all
day long, singing in the sunshine, to sleep at night under the waving
trees, to tell fortunes, and wear a pretty scarlet cloak, and never
know, when I got up in the morning, where I would lie down at night.
It's nothing but a nuisance, and a trouble, and a bother, being rich,
and dressing for dinner, and going to the opera and two or three parties
of a night, and being obliged to talk and walk and eat and sleep by line
and plummet. I hate it all!"
"You're tired of it, then?" Miriam asked, with a curious smile.
"Yes; just now I am. The fit will pass away, I suppose, as other similar
fits have passed."
"I wonder you never take it into your head to go back upon the stage.
You liked that life?"
"Liked it? Yes: and I will, too," said Mollie, recklessly, "some day,
when I'm more than usually aggravated.
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