Название | Bombs on Aunt Dainty |
---|---|
Автор произведения | Judith Kerr |
Жанр | Книги для детей: прочее |
Серия | |
Издательство | Книги для детей: прочее |
Год выпуска | 0 |
isbn | 9780007375714 |
First published in Great Britain as The Other Way Round by
William Collins Sons & Co Ltd in 1975
First published as Bombs on Aunt Dainty by
HarperCollins Children’s Books in 2002
This edition 2017
HarperCollins Children’s Books is a division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd, 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF
Text copyright © Kerr-Kneale Productions Ltd 1975
Cover illustration and design © Kerr-Kneale Productions Ltd 1975
Judith Kerr asserts the moral right to be identified as the author and illustrator of this work.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Source ISBN: 9780007137619
Ebook Edition © 2017 ISBN: 9780007375714
Version: 2017-08-23
For my brother
Michael
Contents
Anna was standing in her room at the top of the Bartholomews’ London house. She had finally remembered to stitch up the hem of her skirt which had been hanging down and she was wearing new lisle stockings – not black ones from Woolworth’s but the more expensive beige kind from Marks and Spencer’s. Her sweater, which she had knitted herself, almost matched her skirt, and her pretty shoes, inherited from one of the Bartholomews’ daughters, were newly polished. She tilted the mirror on the dressing table to catch her reflection, hoping to be impressed.
It was disappointing, as usual. The room outdid her. It was clear that she did not belong in it. Against the quilted, silky bedspread, the elegant wallpaper, the beautiful, gleaming furniture, she looked neat but dull. A small person dressed in brown. Like a servant, she thought, or an orphan. The room needed someone careless, richer, more smiling.
She sat on the chintzy stool and stared at her face with growing irritation. Dark hair, green eyes, an over-serious expression. Why couldn’t she at least have been blonde? Everyone knew that blonde hair was better. All the film stars were blonde, from Shirley Temple to Marlene Dietrich. Her eyebrows were wrong, too. They should have been thin arcs, as though drawn with a pencil. Instead they were thick and almost straight.