again at Ric urn back to my painting. I say quietly, you wake her?
S muco sunlig fondly, but laug tc sleep. S got kno.
, not as if erest at tretcs to , and sneezes. troubles s o ly sniffs. I beg your pardon, his handkerchief.
Sue does not frourns her head. her lower lip
slig keeps its curve and point. I ed my brusouc once to my crumbling painting; no, till. I suppose udies me. I suppose t—for I find it later, black paint upon my blue go mark it as it falls, is my not marking it, t betrays me. t, or my look. Sue froctle longer. turn, and find Richards eyes upon me.
Oh, Maud, he says.
t is all in last, her.
For a moment eps to me and takes my . tbrush falls.
Come quickly, he says. Come quickly, before she wakes.
akes me, stumbling, along ter flo top, s o my s.
O. But this—!
I urned my face from feel smile, I say, s laugh.
Laug be glad I dont do s to ites are said to be pricked, by matters like t a gentleman so muc codes. You may love and be damned, for all I care.—Dont o t from igs me lean from tle, but grips my . You may love and be damned, keep me from my money—keep us languis back our plot, our future—you s, no. Not norifling tay for. No is as tiresome to me as to you, so!—Let her wake up
and seek us out. Let come to me? Very good. I s last; and so . Stand steady, now.
. ts against t billoo a silence.
t will bring her, he says.
I move my arms. You are ing me.
Stand like a lover tle as anytried to strike o make me bruise you?
pinning doall, rong. about my —as young mens fingers are meant to do, I believe, on ts of ts. For a time I strain against tand braced and sing as a pair of lers in a ring. But I suppose t, from a distance, seem swaying in a kind of love.
But I to tire. till upon us. till c, ter still laps among t tured or ripped: I can feel it begin to droop and settle, close about me, in suffocating folds.