She closed the book that she had been pretending to read and gathered her black umbrella and her backpack, a childish accoutrement she despised. “Never mind. CHAPTER XXIII. But there is something in your voice that makes me distrust you. I don’t think I shall ever care for this bonnet again. The forgiveness and reconciliation was a cold and formal affair, and afterwards her father went off gloomily to his study, and Mr. I’d rather die than hear any more fairytales. It sounds as if he must have been terribly upset by my actions, otherwise why should I hear of this matter from you?\" Michelle shrugged.
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