lence. So to t t door I pause again, and listen again, to be sure t all is still hin.
to my uncles rooms. I ered , as I guess, t greased, and turn a sound. tep.
look at to my ear to take turn it. One incen again. If irs, I urn and go. Does ill I , uncertain. t, even rasp of hing.
ains pulled close but keeps a ligable: to me, I so be nervous of t t moving from my place beside t me; and at last see to take. On and, beside er: c, to ; and his razor.
I go quickly and take tly, I feel it slit my glove. If it s does not fall. t, ts clasp, at an angle, ss edge. I pull it a little freer, and turn it to t: it must be s I it for. I t is s my el, picked out against t pass for a girl in an allegory. Confidence Abused.
Beo my uncles bed do not quite meet. In t of lig is , but rato , like a c is drao ig out ter dreams, pering spines. acles sit neatly, as if able beside h
t eyes ture. the razor is warming in my hand . . .
But t t kind of story. Not yet. I stand and c a minute; and tly. I go to tairs, and from to t room I lock t my back and lig is beating , noicipation. But time is racing, and I cannot . I cross to my uncles sen tain Dra: I take it, and open it, and set it upon t tig. tiff, but springs t inc is its nature to cut, after all.
Still, it is is terribly cannot do it—to put tal for t time to t and naked paper. I am almost afraid t it does not s sigs oion; and s become ser and more true.
urn to Sue s t . But soo relieved to scold me. en it up noake your bag.—Not t one, t ones too go. Ss o my mouteady takes my he house.
Soft as a tells me I ly stood, ligc ts airs are strange to me, all t of trange to me. Sil s doo make turn. Sc ac.
takes me into t; and the house seems queer—for of course, I have never
before seen it at sucood at my . If I stood tugging my rees, tones and stumps of ivy? For a second I ate, turn and ce sure t, if I only , I ther windows. ill no-one wake, and come,