t least, I may keep ;
I ongue gro still taste lavender. I t , after all.
But soon, I do not care. My cunt groand my uncles books to be filled rut c quite fades from my limbs. tlessness turns all to scorn. I become o be. I become a librarian.
tful turk, my uncle mig?
e index—o Priapus and Venus ed me, as oticed to the loom.
I knoill e. I knoors, auctioneers— ents of ters:
quot;Mr Lilly: on t of Paris claims no kno, sodomitical matter. S;
My uncle heir lenses.
t no leave to languis me see . . . ival of till trey? You must copy it, Maud ...quot;
I will, I say.
You t myself, and yaudies me. aken s nib.
It appears you find your occupation dull, last. Pero return to your room. I say not?
Perer a moment.
Per back your book t, Maud— t, as I cross to truct Mrs Stiles to keep t suppose I so keep you warm in idleness, hmm?
I ate, ter—it seems aler t until made to dress for dinner. But at table, e, my uncle stops , in this house.
takes tter arike ead I must sit, ting my o t, biting doears, upon my uncles ink-stained tongue, until I am dismissed.
Next day at eigurn to my o yawn again.
I groaller, in t follos and gloves and slippers.—My uncle notes it, vaguely, and instructs Mrs Stiles to cut me neo ttern of t take a sort of malicious pleasure from to suit hen again, perhaps in her grief for
er sten t little girls are meant to turn out Briar, and dra, noy. I o my gloves and my t unloosening of trings. Undressed, I seem to feel myself as naked and unsafe as one of my uncles lenseless eyes.
Asleep, I am sometimes oppressed by dreams. Once I fall into a fever, and a surgeon sees me. fless o my croubled, s? ell, expect t. You are an uncommon girl. rokes my o be taken in a cup of er—for restlessness. Barbara puts out ture, wiles looks on.
to be married, and I am given anot as a bird—one of ttle, little birds t men bring dos. Se skin ma