Allison Carroll

The Secret Garden Indent add , At first each day which passed by for Mary Lennox was exactly like the others. Every morning she awoke in her tapestried room and found Martha kneeling add , breakfast upon the hearth building her fire; every morning she ate her breafkfast in the add , nursery which had nothing amusing in it; and after each breakfast she gazed out of the window across to the huge moor which seemed to spread out on all sides add ; add , and climb up to the sky, and after she had stared for a while she realized that if em dash add , she did not go out she would have to stay in and do nothing – and so she went out. She did know that this was the best thing she could have done, and she did not know that when she began to walk quickly or even run along the paths and down the avenue, she was stirring her slow blood and making herself stronger by fighting with the wind which swept down from the moor. She ran only to make herself warm, and she hated the wind which rushed at her face and roared and held her back as if it were some giant she could not see. breaths But the big breathes of rough fresh air blown over the heather filled her thin lungs with something which was good for her whole thing body and whipped some red color into her cheeks and brightened her dull eyes when she did not know anything about it. But after a few days spent almost entirely out of doors, she wakened one morning knowing what it was to be hungry, and when she sat down to her add , breakfast she did not glance disdainfully at her porridge and push it away, but but took up her spoon and began to eat it and went on eating it until her bowl was empty. “Tha’ got on well enough with that this mornin’, didn’t tha’?” said Martha. today," “It tastes nice today” said Mary, feeling a little surprised herself. “It’s th’ air of th’ moor that’s givin’ thee stomach for tha’ victuals,” answered Martha. “It’s lucky for thee that tha’s got victuals as well as appetite. cap. There’s been twelve in our cottage as had th’ stomach an’ nothin’ to put in it. you go on playin’ you out o’ doors every day an’ you’ll get some flesh on your bones an’ you won’t be so yeller.” add . “I don’t play,” said Mary, “I have nothing to play with.” “Nothin’ to play with!” exclaimed Martha. “Our children plays with sticks and stones. They just runs about an’ shouts an’ looks at things.” shout Mary did not shot, but she looked at things. There was nothing else to do. She walked round and round the gardens and wandered about the paths in the park. Sometimes she looked for Ben Weatherstaff, but though several times she saw him at work, he was too busy to look at her or was too surly. Once when she add , was walking toward him he picked up his spade and turned away as if he did it on purpose.