Original (inglés)

CHAPTER XII AT THE RECEIPT OF CUSTOM "What are you laughing at, Kitty? You cackle like a young hen with her first egg." So spoke Mrs. Tynan to her daughter, who alternately swung backwards and forwards in a big rocking-chair, silently gazing into the distant sky, or sat still and "cackled" as her mother had said. A person of real observation and astuteness, however, would have noticed that Kitty's laughter told a story which was not joy and gladness— neither good humour nor the a