Ellen was in distress for fear
it would go on Nancy's head, as well as the ruffles round her
neck; but it didn't; she flung it at length on one side, and
went on pulling out one thing after another, strewing them
very carelessly about the floor.
"What's here? a pair of dirty stockings, as I am alive! Ain't
you ashamed to put dirty stockings in your trunk?"
"They are no such thing," said Ellen, who, in her vexation,
was in danger of forgetting her fear — "I've worn them but
once."
"They've no business in here, anyhow," said Nancy, rolling
them up in a hard ball and giving them a sudden fling at
Ellen. They just missed her face, and struck the wall beyond.
Ellen seized them to throw back, but her weakness warned her
she was not able, and a moment reminded her of the folly of
doing anything to rouse Nancy, who, for the present, was
pretty quiet. Ellen lay upon her pillow and looked on, ready
to cry with vexation. All her nicely-stowed piles of white
clothes were ruthlessly hurled out and tumbled about; her
capes tried on; her summer dresses unfolded, displayed,
criticised. Nancy decided one was too short; another very
ugly; a third horribly ill-made; and when she had done with
each, it was cast out of her way, on one side or the other, as
the case might be.
The floor was littered with clothes in various states of
disarrangement and confusion.
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