up ands at to cast slivers of dirt, fastidiously, into the flames.
akes t to talk urned mad, t, speaking in to a maids room. I airs and floorboards beneats. I onous—but not t all. I sit upon til tand and curtsey. Susan, says Ricly. My . But I t be strange. I see tudying me. Ricchen he comes close.
A faito tors. rengtaxed, t ts me in t of t here,
ly, in your mistresss clemen only rifling questions. You must ansly.
to reassure or to one of mine. I still wear my wedding-ring. free and , his palm.
Very good, says one of tors, more satisfied noes in a book. I curn a page and, suddenly, long for paper. Very good. e ress. You do o t and o tell you to be your name, ory one t resembles yours? You kno?
Ricches.
Yes, sir, I say, in a whisper.
And your name is Susan Smith?
Yes, sir.
And you o Mrs Rivers—Miss Lilly, as was—in her uncles house, of Briar, before her marriage?
I nod.
And before t— treet, Mayfair?
No, sir. I never hey are all Mrs Riverss fancy.
I speak, as a servant migantly, some otance, o provide tory ors to seek t. e do not they will, however.
tor nods again. And Mrs Rivers, ;fancyquot;. hen did such fancies begin?
I srange, I say quietly. ts at Briar e righer was mad, sir.
Noing. tors dont to s. Go on ions, only.
Yes, sir, I say. I gaze at ters rising from thick as needles.
And Mrs Riverss marriage, says tor. affect her?
It , sir, I say, ime, so love Mr Rivers; and of , sarted up very queer ...quot;
tor looks at matc is quite remarkable!—as if, in making a burden of o burden to anotter able to bear it. Sion of urns to me. A fiction, indeed, fully. tell me tress care for books? for reading?
I meet my t seems to close, or be splintered, like t anserary life. ed to t of learning, and sao ion as o a sons. Mrs Riverss first passion was books.
t! says tor. leman I dont doubt. But to literature— t.