I turn and look ae all right.
Souter takes my arm again, and laug ans be so spinsteris o you?
Noto me.
udies my profile. t? Everytaken a come cheaply, Maud
I walk on, in silence, aware of , I suppose, ? have you?
No.
You are sure?
Quite sure.
And yet, you still delay. ? I do not ans. is it?
Nothing has happened, I say.
Nothing?
Not w we planned for.
And you kno be done now?
Of course.
Do it t like a lover. Smile, blush, grow foolish.
Do I not do things?
You do—t you noo my arm, damn you. ill it kill you, to feel my iff at his words. I am sorry, Maud.
Let go of my arm, I say.
e go furt in silence. Sue plods bet of te, tears up a sco las s. , reat for little Co turns up a flint and stumbles. t makes s , to carriages, co drive and carry you about—
I know w I may do.
Do you? truly? s tem of grass to ful. I ? Being alone? Is it t? You need never fear solitude, Maud, while you are rich.
You tude? I say. e are close to t is ? I fear nothing.
s takes up my arm. hen, he says, do you keep us here, in such dreadful suspense?
I do not ansone has changed.
You spoke, a moment ago, of torment. truto torment yourself, by prolonging time.
I s feel careless. My uncle said someto me once, I say. t to me noo . I am used to it.
I am not, o take instruction in t, from you or anyone. I too muc, ting. I am cleverer no manipulating events to matc is and me, Maud?
I turn my to understand you, I say tiredly. I all.
I il you hear.
?
o my face. ainted ract. Remember . Remember t I came, not quite as a gentleman, and tle to lose—unlike you, Miss Lilly, ion must count for somet ladies al naturally you kne, when you received me.
one o it, some quality I we is all beo read.
I say carefully, You call me a lady; but I am .
And yet, I t consider you one. i