rked een, innocent as butter. S first. S still to be, and ill its look of mine. I beat he resemblance.
So my life passes. You mig kno queer. But I read otalk of servants, and catc—by tying glances of parlourmaids and grooms!—I see well enougy I have become.
I am as rakes of fiction; but came to my uncles s park. I kno remember t follo remember do, , for example, sit a horse, or dance. I have
never o spend it. I ain, or a sea.
I , I t, too. I kno, from my uncles books. I kno lies upon a river—er, t, overturned punt tted as ual mockery, it seems to me, of my confinement; but I like to sit upon it, gazing at t ters edge. I remember tory, of t and er of a king. I so find a c, not to keep it!—but to take its place in t and leave it at Briar to groo be me. I ten of t claim me.
t is o fancies. and at t and at my o, for many a time. And in t t covers t crescent, to t of secrets.
But I am inside t, and long to get out. . .
I am seventeen and a promise and tory of a gullible girl wo .