Young girls with braids down their backs--and by the way, Linda, you did not tell me what happened "after the ball was over." Did you go to school the next morning with braids down your back, or wearing your coronet?
Because on that depends what I have to say to you now; if you went with braids, you're still my little girl chum, the cleanest, finest kid I have ever known; but if you wore your coronet, then you're a woman and my equal and my dearest friend, far dearer than Dana even; and I tell you this, Linda, because I want you always to understand that you come first.
I have tried and tried to visualize you, and can't satisfy my mind as to whether the braids are up or down.

Going on the assumption that they are up, and that life may in the near future begin to hold some interesting experiences for you, I will tell you this, beloved child: I don't think Mr.Snow is mourning quite so deeply as he was.

I have not been asked, the last four or five trips we have been on, to carry an armload of exquisite flowers to the shrine of a departed love.

I have been privileged to take them home and arrange them in my room and Dana's.

And I haven't heard so much talk about loneliness, and I haven't seen such tired, sad eyes.