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"It's worth something to have that," admitted Marilla.
Miss Stacy came back to Avonlea school and found all her pupils
eager for work once more. Especially did the Queen's class gird
up their loins for the fray, for at the end of the coming year,
dimly shadowing their pathway already, loomed up that fateful
thing known as "the Entrance," at the thought of which one and
all felt their hearts sink into their very shoes. Suppose they
did not pass! That thought was doomed to haunt Anne through the
waking hours of that winter, Sunday afternoons inclusive, to the
almost entire exclusion of moral and theological problems. When
Anne had bad dreams she found herself staring miserably at pass
lists of the Entrance exams, where Gilbert Blythe's name was
blazoned at the top and in which hers did not appear at all.
But it was a jolly, busy, happy swift-flying winter. Schoolwork
was as interesting, class rivalry as absorbing, as of yore. New
worlds of thought, feeling, and ambition, fresh, fascinating
fields of unexplored knowledge seemed to be opening out before
Anne's eager eyes.
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