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 Shirley , what have you done to your hair ? Why , it 's GREEN ! '' Green it might be called , if it were any earthly color -- a queer , dull , bronzy green , with streaks here and there of the original red to heighten the ghastly effect . Never in all her life had Marilla seen anything so grotesque as Anne 's hair at that moment .
`` Yes , it 's green , '' moaned XXXXX .
Anne Green Marilla Shirley Sunday-school anything appearance life right streaks