her life.
I t; and I am gripped I take to be pity. It is , and am afraid. Afraid of ure may cost me. Afraid of t future itself, and of tions might be filled.
S kno. not kno, eit
afternoon—comes, as o come, in takes my o kiss my knuckles. Miss Lilly/ one of caress. ly; yet carries of urns to Sue, and ssey. tiff-bodiced dress is not made for curtseying in, tumble togeto ses it. But I see, too, t eness of o me. o all, and darker t. akes ends almost to t. ress, Sue.
S too, sir. I take a step. She is a very good girl, I say. A very good girl, indeed.
But ty, imperfect. c be good. No girl could , Miss Lilly, h you for her example.
You are too kind, I say.
No gentleman could but be, I to be kind to. , found sympato pluck me from t of Briar, unscratc be myself, niece to my uncle, if I could meet t feeling tir of some excitement, dark and a. But I feel it too queasy. I smile; but tretcigilts my o makes tigill, I begin to feel it as an ac my t. I avoid makes ep to and a moment, murmuring at t—s it into
it tsey.
Nourns back, I cannot look at o my dressing-room and close ter—a terrible laug courses silently ter—I sill.
dinner, e. ing meat from t is almost translucent, t in a ting of butter and sauce. Our food comes cold to table in er. In summer it comes too warm.
I say, Very—biddable, Mr Rivers.
You t?
I think so, yes.
You o complain, of my recommendation?
No.
ell, I am relieved to .
oo muc of tcs this? he says now.
I en.
s against my library door. of her?
So me on Mr Riverss word. o remember me.
My uncle moves ongue. as o Rico me, tle raised, as if sensing dark currents. Miss Smith, you say?
Miss Smit steadily, .
t! urns excitedly to . Now, Rivers, .
Sir?
I defy you—positively defy you, sir!—to name me any institution so nurturing of trocious acts of lecholic Church of Rome
look at