My daughters requested The Little Match Girl as their bedtime story tonight.I knew the story. I knew what was coming. I willed myself not to cry... but dammit, I cried.
Quavering voice, streaming tears and all.
"Lights were shining from every window, and there was a savory smell of roast goose, for it was New-year’s eve—yes, she remembered that. In a corner, between two houses, one of which projected beyond the other, she sank down and huddled herself together. She had drawn her little feet under her, but she could not keep off the cold; and she dared not go home, for she had sold no matches, and could not take home even a penny of money. Her father would certainly beat her; besides, it was almost as cold at home as here, for they had only the roof to cover them, through which the wind howled, although the largest holes had been stopped up with straw and rags..."
Stop! I can't stand it!
