t all— w she says is: Mr Rivers.
I look from empt, to to turn my ts to marriage. t be passed. Ss for me to speak. At last I tell ifully: Mr Rivers o marry him, Sue.
Sears, time, t wasrue ones—and w, O souches me and holds my gaze, and says: he loves you.
You think he does?
S. S flinc follow your .
I am not sure, I say. If I might only be sure!
But to love, so lose him!
I grooo conscious of talks to me of beating blood, of t once s t I love o fear and e him.
Se. will you do? she says, in a whisper.
can I do? I say. choice have I?
S anso gaze for a moment at t t turns back, her face has changed.
Marry ells me. hing he says.
So Briar to ruin me, to c me and do me ell myself. See srifling! A ttle fingersmited, so my past, kept from my future—by . t dras grow close. / s, I s—
You are cruel, Ric t. I t Sue—I t be someone else you care for . . .
Sometimes I see old imes s me, so strangely—or else ouciff, so nervous and unpractised—I to leave toget tell hen.
do you say, Suky, to this? She loves you!
Loves me? Like a lady loves her maid?
Like certain ladies love t stle o keep you close about ? sroublesome dreams?—Is t ry to kiss you back . . .
ould s seems to me siously beside me no seems to me sen c t, t o terrible life—or else, t me o life, too vivid, too o see figures start out from tterns in ty carpets and drapes, or creep, he ceilings and walls.
Even my uncles books are co me; and t of all. I art up, are filled ammer. I lose my place. My uncle s of brass, and t at me. t steadies me, for a time. But t, from a certain o pleasure anot of a man.
And songue to it, and into it—
You like this, Rivers? asks my uncle.
I confess, sir, I do.
ell, so do many men; t is o my taste. Still, I am glad to note your interest. I address t fully, of course, in my Index. Read on, Maud. Read on.
I do. And despite myself