"Jane Yolen - Lost Girls" - читать интересную книгу автора (Yolen Jane)

from the kitchen doorway, "Are you lot coming? Tea's on." She did not
sound as if she were including Darla in the invitation.
Martha scurried to Wendy's side, but Nancy and JoAnne hesitated a
moment before joining her. That left only Lizzy with Darla.
"Can I help?" Lizzy asked. "For the signs. And the 'ines? I be a good
worker. Even Wendy says so."
"You're my only…" Darla said, smiling down at her and giving her little
hand a squeeze. "My onliest worker. Still, as my mom always says, Start
with one, you're halfway done."
Lizzy repeated the rhyme. "Start with one, you're halfway done. Start
with one…"
"Just remember it. No need to say it aloud," Darla said.
Lizzy looked up at her, eyes like sky-blue marbles. "But I 'ike the way
that poem sounds."
"Then 'ike it quietly. We have a long way to go yet before we're ready for
any chants." Darla went into the kitchen hand-in-hand with Lizzy, who
skipped beside her, mouthing the words silently.



Fourteen Wendys stared at them. Not a one was smiling. Each had a
teacup — unmatched, chipped, or cracked — in her hand.
"A long way to go where?" Wendy asked in a chilly voice.
"A long way before you can be free of this yoke of oppression," said
Darla. Yoke of oppression was a favorite expression of her mother's.
"We are not yoked," Wendy said slowly. "And we are not oppressed."
"What's o-ppressed?" asked Lizzy.
"Made to do what you don't want to do," explained Darla, but she never
took her eyes off of Wendy. "Treated harshly. Ruled unjustly. Governed
with cruelty." Those were the three definitions she'd had to memorize for
her last social studies exam. She never thought she'd ever actually get to
use them in the real world. If, she thought suddenly, this world is real.
"No one treats us harshly or rules us unjustly. And the only cruel ones in
Neverland are the pirates," Wendy explained carefully, as if talking to
someone feebleminded or slow.
None of the other Wendys said a word. Most of them stared into their
cups, a little—Darla thought— like the way I always stare down at my
shoes when Mom or Dad wants to talk about something that hurts.
Lizzy pulled her hand from Darla's. "I think it harsh that we always have
to clean up after the boys." Her voice was tiny but still it carried.
 "And unjust," someone put in.
"Who said that?" Wendy demanded, staring around the table. "Who
dares to say that Peter is unjust?"
Darla pursed her lips, wondering how her mom would answer such a
question. She was about to lean forward to say something when JoAnne
stood in a rush.
"I said it. And it is unjust. I came to Neverland to get away from that
sort of thing. Well… and to get away from my stepfather, too," she said. "I
mean, I don't mind cleaning up my own mess. And even someone else's,
occasionally. But…" She sat down as quickly as shehad stood, looking