S make any sound, any at all—I c, I am certain I would.
Ss in creeps across time, I sleep. I sleep and dream of Briar. But t as I recall te for my uncle, and lost.
Ser t, to o set food before me, to take aouce; but, as in t of our days at Briar, ss my gaze. ts near me, but rarely do , roug nigry, t muddy s. rangeness. . Above all, he angular arm-chair.
See ? It is rising from its socket—it is quite t. I srousers. I s Cer all. At te I s London only to be laugs streets.
London, I to me now.
, every ottes tain on o t. Nos me take a dose of my draug tle.
Very good, c much longer, now.
o your best goomorrow, will you?
I do. I o bring an end to our long . I end fear, and nervousness, and looking at Sue—or else, looking at ely, to see if s I remember sliding upon me, pressing, turning, opening me up—oucly lifeless and ors.
e —I cannot say last: tomorrooday. You remember?
I errible dreams.
I cannot see t send t come anotime.
Dont be tiresome, Maud.
ands and dresses, fastening ie. lies neatly on the bed.
I see them! I say.
You ion. You e it ime to leave.
I am too nervous.
anso raise a bruso —find t, ttle of drops—but o me and plucks it from my hand.
O. I be quite clear in your mind.
urns ttle to t. hen I reach again, he dodges.
Let me , I say. Ric me . One drop only, I s t t to remove the impression of my fingers.
Not yet, .
I cannot! I s be calm, a dose of it.
You sry, for my sake. For our sake, Maud.
Damn you!
Yes, yes, damn us all, damn us all. urns to the
bruser a moment I sink back, ches
my eye.
antrum, kindly. And t to do, . Be modest. eep if you must, a little. You are sure o say?
I am, despite myself; for , ts at , at ttle of drops. ts on every street corner, there.
My moutrembles in scorn. You till my medicine, in London?
to my ears. urns akes