“I think you might get my doll,” repeated Priscilla.
“Oh, Priscilla, how can I? I couldn’t leave you here alone like this for anything. They’d think I was awful; they’d scold.”
“You might get my doll.”
“I can’t.”
“Then I’ll lean out further.”
“Don’t you! Don’t you!”
“I will, ’less you get my doll!”
Priscilla was beginning quite to enjoy herself. Her usually gentle heart was hardened now with the determination to have her own way at any cost. There was a fearful excitement in leaning over that forbidden ledge, and it was “fun” of a sort to know that Polly stood in fear of what she would do. She did not draw back an inch, and the hand on her skirt tightened fiercely.
“Let go my dress!”
“I mustn’t: you’ll fall!”