But he still
fretted audibly over his own helplessness, and he chafed visibly
under the rules and "regulatings" of the unwelcome members of his
household. He did, indeed, seem to like to hear Pollyanna talk,
however, and Pollyanna talked, Pollyanna liked to talk--but she
was never sure that she would not look up and find him lying back
on his pillow with that white, hurt look that always pained her;
and she was never sure which--if any--of her words had brought it
there. As for telling him the "glad game," and trying to get him
to play it--Pollyanna had never seen the time yet when she
thought he would care to hear about it. She had twice tried to
tell him; but neither time had she got beyond the beginning of
what her father had said--John Pendleton had on each occasion
turned the conversation abruptly to another subject.
Pollyanna never doubted now that John Pendleton was her Aunt
Polly's one-time lover; and with all the strength of her loving,
loyal heart, she wished she could in some way bring happiness
into their to her mind--miserably lonely lives.
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