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222
A New England Girlhood, Outlined from Memory (Beverly, MA)
·
Lucy Larcom
84
One
result
of
my
infantile
novel-reading
was
that
I
did
not
like
to
look
at
my
own
face
in
a
mirror,
because
it
was
so
unlike
that
of
heroines,
always
pictured
with
"high
white
foreheads"
and
"cheeks
of
a
perfect
oval."
Mine
was
round,
ruddy,
and
laughing
with
health;
and,
though
I
practiced
at
the
glass
a
good
deal,
I
could
not
lengthen
it
by
puckering
down
my
lips.
I
quite
envied
the
little
girls
who
were
pale
and
pensive-looking,
as
that
was
the
only
ladyfied
standard
in
the
romances.
Of
course,
the
chief
pleasure
of
reading
them
was
that
of
identifying
myself
with
every
new
heroine.
They
began
to
call
me
a
"bookworm"
at
home.
I
did
not
at
all
relish
the
title.
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