 Kaplinski Rival Sorting Hat Machine
Running a hand along the dusty frame of the window, she rubbed the dirt from her fingers and gazed outside silently, tears trickling down her face. She was 16, motherless, more or less fatherless, almost friendless and she was sarcificing the little happiness she had ever had to help her God-Father. It was hard, far worse than hard, it was heart wrenching. But what part of that, didn't the man outside understand? She needed help, not the hinderance of harshness and yet he couldn't grasp that. |