Nothing puzzled her more than the distressing fact that she wondered sometimes whether her friend was ever really coming again, whether any of the wonderful things that were happening on every side of her wouldn't suddenly one fine morning vanish altogether, and leave her to a dreary world of nurse, bread and milk, and the Romans sacking Jerusalem.

She didn't, of course, put it like that; all that it meant to her was that stupid people and tiresome things were always interfering between herself and _real_ fun.

Now it was time to go out, now to go to bed, now to eat, now to be taken downstairs into that horrid room where she couldn't move because things would tumble off the tables so ...

all this prevented her own life when she would sit and try, and try, and remember _what_ it was all like once, and wonder why when once things had been so beautiful they were so ugly and disappointing now.
Now Rose had come, and she could talk to Rose about it.

"What she sees in that ugly old doll!" said the nurse to the housemaid.