t—I kno, name it, now.
I kno, and. S gallantry. It is gallantry!—try of rogues. Sc out paper, leads and paints. Sake my side, guide my fingers in to rise—but his can
fall, insinuate, and yet, like a musical note, stay clear; and , point by point across il t. Very good, er h an able girl. Very good. You learn quickly
raig back Agnes and find ter ao your mistresss gifts as an artist? O o judge.
take up a pencil, go closer to ter. you try?
Once akes at ouc. You dont suppose I mean to insult you? No, sir!
ell, wtle warm, sir. arm, in December—?
And so on. alent for torment, quite as polis, in observing to groious. I do not. teases, top, revolving faster at taunt her myself.
Agnes, I say, op , feel t. Do you t in your eye! And dont young girls handsome men?
Indeed, miss, I dont know!
Do you say t? t part of . ill you put t, wo forgive you? Do you
t forgive a red t ss in ure to be so. o put a passion in o punis. Dont you t you feel your passion, you listen for tep?
S. S, against s only say it, or t say it and be bruised, and keep t of e; and I must bruise bruise ing of ——I would surely feel myself.
I never do feel it. Dont imagine I do. Does de Merteuil feel it, for Valmont? I dont to feel it. I se myself, if I did! For I kno, from my uncles books, for too squalid a tcco be satisfied icly, ly, in closets and be stirring in my breast—t dark propinquity—is sometoget say, it rises like a ss tains, already; and so no-one marks it.
No-one, periles. For I t Ricleman o be. I catcimes. I believe so c me and do me , t—and ing me—s to herself; and nurses her hope of my ruin, smiling, as she once nursed her dying child.
tals rap is made, t prime it and ss teet is all complete— Now, says Richard, our work begins.
e must get rid of Agnes.
in a t over so coolly, eady a gaze, I am almost afraid of me.
You kno , he says.
Of course.
And