And idly she looked at the printing on the paper that the parcel was wrapped in.
Suddenly she clutched the parcel tighter and bent her head over it.

It seemed like some horrible dream.

She read on--the bottom of the column was torn off--she could read no farther.
She never remembered how she got home.

But she went on tiptoe to her room and locked the door.

Then she undid the parcel and read that printed column again, sitting on the edge of her bed, her hands and feet icy cold and her face burning.