`` Are you sick then ? '' demanded Marilla anxiously , going over to the bed . Anne cowered deeper into her pillows as if desirous of hiding herself forever from mortal eyes . `` No . But please , Marilla , go away and do n't look at me . I 'm in the depths of despair and I do n't care who gets head in class or writes the best composition or sings in the Sunday-school choir any more . Little things like that are of no importance now because I do n't suppose I 'll ever be able to go anywhere again . My career is closed . Please , Marilla , go away and do n't look at me . '' `` Did anyone ever hear the like ? '' the mystified Marilla wanted to know . `` Anne Shirley , whatever is the matter with you ? What have you done ? Get right up this minute and tell me . This minute , I say . There now , what is it ? '' Anne had slid to the floor in despairing obedience . `` Look at my hair , Marilla , '' she whispered . Accordingly , Marilla lifted her candle and looked scrutinizingly at Anne 's hair , flowing in heavy masses down her back . It certainly had a very strange appearance .
`` Anne XXXXX , what have you done to your hair ?
Anne Marilla Shirley Sunday-school appearance back matter pillows right things