Explore "Adrienne" by Amy Le Feuvre on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
IT was spring at last. The winter had been a cold and late one; now with a rush of warm bright weather every tree and bush was waking into life. Adrienne, with her hands full of daffodils, was filling great bowls upon the wide window-sills.
She was always down in the morning long before her uncles, and had been out in the garden rifling the beds beneath the windows of their golden treasures.