Mrs.Snow had lived forty years, and for fifteen of those years she had been too busy wishing things were different to find much time to enjoy things as they were.
"Oh, but your eyes are so big and dark, and your hair's all dark, too, and curly," cooed Pollyanna.

"I love black curls.

(That's one of the things I'm going to have when I get to Heaven.) And you've got two little red spots in your cheeks.

Why, Mrs.Snow, you ARE pretty! I should think you'd know it when you looked at yourself in the glass." "The glass!" snapped the sick woman, falling back on her pillow.

"Yes, well, I hain't done much prinkin' before the mirror these days--and you wouldn't, if you was flat on your back as I am!" "Why, no, of course not," agreed Pollyanna, sympathetically.