e.
I am standing, tep fade, o t look for me, does not kno I am till tened front door. les, or used to suc Briar, and smarting by my uncles rike me noing of timbers and beams. I t must be rising in a cloud from tique carpets beneath his
so follo flake and tumble from the
sighe house walls cracking__
gaping—collapsing in to escape.
But I am afraid, too, of escaping. I t. speak privately rey dare to steal ime, to my o secure me to s, and cakes ill; but sits at my uncles side, not mine. One nigion to say this:
It troubles me, Miss Lilly, to t be, notention from o return to your he books.
tting my gaze fall to my plate of broken meat: Very much, of course.
t do someto make ttle liging or sketcerial of t sort—t I mig for you, in my oime? I t. For I see you s, from the house.
or of music migon. Of course, I am not obedient. I say, I cannot paint, or draw. I aug.
, never?—Forgive me, Mr Lilly. Your niece strikes one as being so competent a mistress of ts, I s, you knole trouble. Miss Lilly could take lessons from me, sir. Mig teacernoons? I tle experience in taug Paris, to ters of a Comte.
My uncle scre ? Do you mean to assist us, Maud, in the albums?
I mean dras own sake, sir, says Ricly, before I can reply.
For its o me. Maud, w do you
say?
Im afraid I have no skill.
No skill? ell, t may be true. Certainly your ends to slope, even noell me, Rivers: sruction in drawing he firmness of my nieces hand?
I s definitely.
t Mr Rivers teac care, anyo imagine you idle. hmm?
Yes, sir, I say.
Ric guards a cats eye as it slumbers. My uncle bending to e, s my look: timacy of his expression makes me shudder.
Dont misunderstand me. Dont ts true I s—fear of its success, as s failure. But I tremble, too, at ts me quivering, as ting string unsuspected sympaten minutes first nig. If I never kne villainy before—or if, kno, I never named i