a stool for me close to ting finger on ool is and t of my single and finally groience er all; and to be free of a desire to ty often.
Still, t o o e, to se moves silently upon paper, and a green-so save my eyes.
t s, of smouldering dust: a curious smell—I so e it!—th.
My self is of t tedious kind, and consists cext, from antique volumes, into a leat is filled my job is to render it blank again ask, more tter I am made to copy: for tion, groo tear; and t of a smudge on a leaf of text, or tearing paper, is more ts of t I fear most as a cres of past lessons, imperfectly erased.
I call t I am not taugo recite, softly and clearly; I am never taugo sing. I never learn t am scead in tcley, silk. I learn inks; tting of pens; tyles and sizes of founts: sans-serif, antique, Egyptian, pica, brevier, emerald, ruby, Pearl. . . t is a c. For te.
But I learn quickly. turns. I am made small re-soled slippers, a goiff as t, but of velvet. I am alloo take my supper in t one end of a great oak table, set s at t if I so let fall a fork, or to jar my knife against my plate, terrible eye. t obliges you to grind your silver in t way?
too large and too fully once.
taken a eat s, and s, and calves feet, my kid-skin gloves groing to tance tite leaves me. I care most for t in a crystal glass engraved arnisial. to keep me mindful, not of my name, but of t of my mother; which was Marianne.
S spot of all t lonely park—ary grey stone among so many aken to see it, and made to keep tomb neat.
Be grateful t you may, says Mrs Stiles, crim tery grass, end my grave? I s forgotten.
aken all tle daugo make ornaments cut to , I groful meekness t, receiving t s provokes o tless enougo scolds, o tain to sigo trengtone. In time—so cunning
am I!—I find out ter; tc giving birto a litter of kittens, I take one for a pet, and name it for o call it loudest ty child you are! how fine your black fur is! Come, kiss your mama.
Do