Little Sister is gone—and I don’t know where she can be! Oh, I ain’t never been so afraid nor so awful, awful sad in all my life. What shall I do? Oh, what shall I do? Looked everywhere for her, I have, anywhere I can think she might be—the Garden, the Club Room, the doorways. Even looked down the sewers to check she weren’t hidin’ there, but she ain’t nowhere to be found! She’s not come home for three days and nights now. Just gone she is. Lost in the crowds. Oh, Rosie, where are you? What will I do? We was on Westminster Bridge, see. We was selling the primroses and violets, and some of us was leanin’ over the bridge to look at the boats leaving the pier. I was tellin’ Rosie how nice they all looked when someone knocked my basket clean from my hands and kicked the crutch from under me. Fell to the ground like a sack of coal, so I did, and I felt her little hand slip from mine, and when I’d gathered myself together—oh—she was gone! Little Sister was gone! “Rosie!
What do You think about A Memory Of Violets (2014)?
