25. Fade

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25. Fade

Anne washed for bed with mixed emotions.

She was happy she'd had new things to read, it perked her up and gave her a feeling of hope.

But she also knew that nothing had changed.

Her books gave her a world to escape to, but eventually she knew she would have to come back.

After she'd filled her wash basin and washed, she dumped it and refilled it and washed again.

Then she pulled off her stockings with their five tiny rips from Billy's fingernails, and their dirty handprint from Billy hand.

She angrily balled up the stockings and plunged them into the new water in her washbasin, and scrubbed and scrubbed at them with her bar of soap.

His dirty handprint came off easily.

No, she corrected herself. The dirt came off. The handprint is still there. Maybe it will be there always, even if I can't see it anymore.

The thought made her feel sick.

She didn't want to wear these stocking anymore, ever, but she didn't see that she had any choice, unless she told Marilla what had happened.

So she just kept scrubbing at them until her wrist couldn't take it any longer, and then she rinsed them out the best she could and hung them up to dry. She hoped they'd be dry by morning. She knew they'd be cold.

She still didn't know what to do with her petticoat.

Marilla had told her to wear her brown dress to school tomorrow and she'd do all Anne's other washing.

But Anne had washed her own stockings and would re-wear them to prevent Marilla from seeing them. Could she do that with her torn petticoat? Perhaps, but not forever. Even though the rip was repaired, it was still plain to see that the petticoat had been torn and mended.

Anne decided to wear the same petticoat again tomorrow. If Marilla said anything about it, she'd say that she'd forgotten Marilla wanted to wash it. Maybe she could lie and convince her it wasn't even dirty.

It might work. For a day or two, maybe.

But she didn't have any idea what to do about her underwear.

It wasn't just torn.

And she didn't know how to hide blood.

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