“Anne, this is terrible,” she said, trying to speak calmly. “You are the very wickedest girl I ever heard of.”
“Yes, I suppose I am,” agreed Anne tranquilly. “And I know I’ll have to be punished. It’ll be your duty to punish me, Marilla. Won’t you please get it over right off because I’d like to go to the picnic with nothing on my mind.”
“Picnic, indeed! You’ll go to no picnic today, Anne Shirley. That shall be your punishment. And it isn’t half severe enough either for what you’ve done!”
“Not go to the picnic!” Anne sprang to her feet and clutched Marilla’s hand. “But you promised me I might! Oh, Marilla, I must go to the picnic. That was why I confessed. Punish me any way you like but that. Oh, Marilla, please, please, let me go to the picnic. Think of the ice cream! For anything you know I may never have a chance to taste ice cream again.”
Marilla disengaged Anne’s clinging hands stonily.
“You needn’t plead, Anne. You are not going to the picnic and that’s final. No, not a word.”
Anne realized that Marilla was not to be moved. She clasped her hands together, gave a piercing shriek, and then flung herself face downward on the bed, crying and writhing in an utter abandonment of disappointment and despair.