'Goodness!" Mr. Whittemore exclaimed, glancing at his watch. 'This girl is already thirty minutes late, how could we ever tell her in time?' He interrogated to his wife.
'She is ought to be here any minute, there is no immediate rush,' Mrs. Whittemore replied with a soothing British accent.
'Rubbish!' Mr. Whittemore exclaimed once again, this time throwing his left arm that held the watch to the side, as if gesturing for a grand tour of the beautiful living room him and his wife were standing in. 'That girl always has nerve to come home so late! What with those pitiful friends of hers...' He continued. 'Which is just enough reason why this is the right thing for her!' He claimed.
'Perhaps you are being a bit hard on her,' Mrs. Whittemore suggested. 'She is your daughter, and all children discover pressure in their own homes.' She added.
'She is no kin to mine.' Mr. Whittemore ended the conversation. As if on cue, the one that they had been expecting to see had finally opened the door.
Arabella Cintel.
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YOU ARE READING
Nightingale
Teen FictionWhen English Arabella Cintel transfers to a boarding school, she immediately becomes an outcast, but when she meets an enchanting Italian, she finds the beauty in Europe through her Nightingale.
