My name, in trinder. Noo an end.
took every one of us, save Dainty. took us, and kept us in gaol Street kitcas us in separate cells, and every day t of questions.
o you?
I said he was a friend of Mrs Sucksbys.
Been long, at Lant Street?
I said I here.
did you see, on t of the crime?
umbled. Sometimes it seemed to me t I ake up times I even seemed to remember seeing . I knoop, I knoter of tepped aleman started to stagger. But Mrs Sucksby here,
too, simes I t it I told trut I did not kno matter, any need me. On ter took us, t me go.
t longer.
Mr Ibbs e first. rial lasted er all, not on account of t lying about tcoo good at taking tampings off, for t—but for tes in te box. t turned out, c Mr Ibbss s P remember, erm in gaol, at any cost—to plant tes on o olen goods: to Pentonville. Of course, be supposed to ime among t t, eful to get an extra sside, noe turned against ime to visit er in. do me so queerly, I could not bear it. I didnt go again.
er, poor t Lant Street, al. too great a shock for her; and she died.
Jo be pinned to any crime, save—t—to t old one of dog-stealing. off s in toto flog tras above after, y met the prison
gate, and o s clean off from Lant Street.
I never spoke to ook a room for y in anot out of my -room, at Mrs Sucksbys trial.
trial came up very quick. I spent ts before it at Lant Street, lying aimes Dainty came back, to sleep beside me and keep me company. S of all my old pals, , before—t I came out t I aken t room, in t seemed a sneaking sort of a of talked about my mot flo say I
ter all; and Mrs Sucksby— bad—aken the blame . . .
in tone at me.
At any otime it care. I , and t o see Mrs Sucksby as often as I could. t all my days tting on tep outside te, oo early to be let in; talking o plead . Some pal of Mr Ibbss o sort of villains from t old me, ly, t our case he sake of her age.
More t could be proved s?
ted to it. ?
I did not kno anse of tepping into treet and calling out for a cab-man; and Id c my , and ttle of of people, tones beneat, er t ougo times I op, and remember Gentleman, gripping tomac our oo say it, noo everyone I sach me . . .?
I en letters; if I o e, and o. I o be judge; if I o find it. But I did not. little comfort I got, I got at Mrs Sucksbys side; and t least . I got to spend more time t to me younger and less of a ser, te to Mrs Sucksbys cell; and every time, s udy my face, or glance beyond my sroubled look—as if, I t, not quite believing t me come again and meant to let me stay.
try at a smile. Dear girl. Quite alone?
Quite alone, Id answer.
ts good, ser.a moment, taking my it? Just you and me. ts good.
So sit like to talk. first Id ake back ory, my her I feared shed grow ill.
No more, s about t, ts all. I dont to it.
So t dander of , and only smooto groime I saw e
untouc of t me, more t seemed to me t everyt rigo be Lant Street, on finding a la all t I could make no on little diso try and tempt -puddings. Once I took remember time s me in old me about Nancy from Oliver t. I dont took it and set it distractedly aside, saying sry it later, like sold me to save my money. So them.
Many times simes so speak on some ater; but al t, surn tter aside and it . If t roubled by queer ideas, and doubts—I kept quiet as s time alked instead of me—of ure.
Youll keep up t Lant Street? shed say.
ont I! Id answer.
You think of leaving?
Leaving? o keep it ready, against t you out. . .
I did not tell ser, tell neig off calling; t a girl tone at me; t people—strangers—and, for a time, at tleman say y, to take tain from ts of er up, because tant scrubbing began to lift turn the pale
tell ures on ts upon tel, tes, t reaks and splaslemans blood.
And I did not say and scrubbed tctle reminders of my old life—dog-s on to mark my as I gre every one.
At nig, I dreamed of murder. I dreamed I killed a man, and o reets of London oo small to . I dreamed of Gentleman. I dreamed I met ttle red c Briar and omb of omb , and I cut to fit; and every nig to ime, just as t done, some queer disaster en in my fingers; t—t—I could not make, never make in time . . .
too late, Gentleman would say.
One time the voice was Mauds.
too late.
I looked, but could not see her.
I seen t Gentleman died. I didnt kno into tie sa. I , from t t , lemans o do o let ic, or w. Dr Cie said only o examine
ill couldnt go near batubs. But o stagger and groion, to find ly cured. ails of lots of neients out of it, I te made une.
Maud at liberty, ter t, so vaniso Briar. I kno Street. I supposed oo afraid!—for of course, I led her if she had.
I did : Peromorrow . . .
But, as I came instead, rial. It came in t. t on blazing all t a—being packed co ter on to try and cool it. I sat y. Id sit in t t. t alone, and cuffs on made yello against t. S came up, and sarangers t o see ried. t my face among t, more easy. o mine, after t, as t on—too, about t, as if in searc t, however, her gaze would always fall.
abbed Gentleman in a moment of anger, m a quarrel over money ing of her room.
Sting of rooms? asked ting lawyer.
Yes, she said.
And not from tolen goods, or ts?
No.
t in men to say t different times, bits of poke; and—w was worse—found women w erwards died . . .
t like a clerks, and combed and s t took place in t Street kitcal nig in take t! And least a minute, before she did.
At least a minute? te sure? You kno t clock, tc of t;
e all c s fell still, to do it. I never knee so long. t John.
As long as t? he said.
Joo cry. Yes, sir, ears.
t t, for o say it in murmurs be sure to note naturally it t made Gentlemans ory about t—
I nearly started out of my seat, Mrs Sucksbys eye. S me to be silent, I fell back; and it never came out t t because s, but because I o tand. Mrs Sucksby let t so hard, and shook so
badly, t. back to ys.
No-one old about me, and Maud. No-one mentioned Briar or old Mr Lilly. No-one came foro say t Gentleman ried to rob erfeit stock. t t young man ure; t Mrs Sucksby t s to trial—and youll never believe it, but it turned out t all ales of being a gentlemans son off ter taug Ric .
ture in to it out and next to ts.
But picture—and , and of vices, and sordid trades— it seemed to me as t be talking of sometirely, not of Gentleman, being , by mistake, in my oc. Even ed, and cting ready to run as soon as it came; even ood and gave back t God as you so many dark and sober gentlemen speaking so many grave and monotonous and t and the lives of people like me and Mrs Sucksby.
t and and colour , already. S t, and I rose, and lifted my s my eye, and c roam about the room, as if looking for
someone or somet settled and seemed to clear, and I follo and picked out, at tc s putting do ing to see ell you t fle fle. Sting alone. S of sign—to me, I mean; and none to Mrs Sucksby.
to o sy o Mrs Sucksby again, ; and when I looked for Maud, she had gone.
t passed after t I remember, no a all, but as a single great endless day. It sleep—for take as of Mrs Sucksby, , darkness—for t lig burned all t; and in t be lig Lant Street—every lig I could borro alone, and c be ill at my side. I e. I o o o be o walk slowly back, here.
trons t stout Dr Cies, and tco start up ace find it in my to like ts—for surely, if truly Mrs Sucksby go? Instead to come and hang her.
I tried not to t, her, like before, I
found I could not t, could not believe it. , I cant say. I kno to some sold me o like not to speak at all, only to feel tle oo, me imes to grohings unsaid . . .
But so me, t s for me to remember; and t —time I ever sao almost breaking, and t I s t, s o my aking t and letting it fall, until it lay across to curl it. It seemed to me t I s enough, ever again.
you? I said.
I felt some tremor pass tter, dear girl, sh me.
No!
Ster, by far.
? ayed leman to Briar— O your side!
I , and again.
roked my my side. But I sat and let be a c last . ttle in trips of sunligcone flags of t could creep like t. It crept, like fingers. And from one o anotep, t the
matron lean to lay s time, s?
e stood. I looked at Mrs Sucksby. ill, but , o tremble.
Dear Sue, so me— So my ear. It tc mig dre say it! I t.—t kno say it! Sigcomorrohink back—
I , error, o ron I suppose must ouc umbling, into te.—I dont recall. I remember next is passing turning a till shere . . .
t, but not tron at my side. She nodded.
One of em, s me. this morning
I only er oo dazed and miserable to of trance, back to Lant Street—only keeping, as muco t of t to Mr Ibbss sep—to t, t kicked tood a minute to get my breato look about me—at ter, streaked ; and
tools and key-blanks, t tain, t torn from its loops and csteps cruncime—I couldnt say and, and coals and cinders still lay scattered on t seemed too ordinary a to do, to s t; and anyorn up boards. Underneat seemed dark, till you broug: t beloer s, and beetles and wriggling worms.
table o t and sat at it, in Mrs Sucksbys old c—poor C barked since Mr Ibbs ail, and came and let me tug th his head on his paws.
I sat, as still and quiet as an y came. S us a supper. I didnt it, and neit solen a purse to buy it, and so I got out boe it sloime, as tcel—t eadily ticking, ticking a feo feel t to feel eace, eac you let me stay? said Dainty, ime for o go. It dont seem rig I said t t ; and finally s; and t me and C us. I lit more lig of Mrs Sucksby, in cell. I t of t cea, lifting up kiss it. I t of , seemed to me, t icked before. I put my able, upon my arms. ired I . I meant to keep a I closed my eyes, and slept.
I slept, for once, dreaming; and I ramping and scuffing of feet, and treet outside. I t, in my must be a oday, t be a fair. day is it?—t o puddles of s; but t of t o be ime. to o get tc Street first, for a look at the house.
t on. as it ical spot. t and so ed in it.—t against ifled babies.—t.—Puts you into a creep, dont it?— Serves .—they say—
top a minute, and to ttled tcood at tried to see tters; but I kept everyt. I dont kno us in! A s of tabbed, come back to you!—but I t to tease t to tease me. I ed to close at my side, and sarted and tried to bark, tle.—At last I took airs, ter a ill; and t meant t ts for c time. I left C set of stairs alone—climbed tood at ttic door, afraid to go in. tand, t of oil-clotacked to t time I had come here,
Gentleman y and Joairs. I ood at t my to t turn to dirty er. Mrs Sucksby roked my to t, and looked, and almost sreets of t y t, and filled anding in topping traffic; and besides to posts and trees and cter vie o keep turned one way.
t te of t. A man , examining the drop.
I sa calm, feeling almost sick. I remembered o me: t I sc I s. It seemed suctle to bear, compared s suffer . . . Noaken testing t. tretc see. I began to be afraid. Still I t, I co till I said to myself, I for else can I do for this?
But I said it; and teady striking of ten oclock. t tood doo teps of t do it. I put my back to th my hands.
I kne rose up from treets. t at triking of tart up s—t, I kne ter. s greant, turned again, moved
faster, like a sreets: t out: s off!, and s of dreadful laug rying to see rangers eyes straining out of ts to see being able to look, myself; but I could not, I could not. I could not turn, or tear ting en. I er co murmurs and calls for meant t on, and on. My os seemed to fill it. till travelling about treets, ots of ts t t— broke out in an uneasy sort of murmur. t taken up by every t—turned, to somet meant t to t tying ting, about he noose . . .
And t—just a single moment, less time t takes to say it—of perfect, aillness: of topping of babies cries, to s and open mout: t be, t be, t, t— And, next, too soon, too quick, ttle of t fell—ts lengtomac .
No for a second. I opened turned, and sa Mrs Sucksby, not Mrs Sucksby at all, but o look like a and a go uffed raw—-
I moved a to t. topped t. ts, more cries, more dreadful laugo cheer myself,
at ot . Noened as t up, and it seemed to me, even in my grief, t I understood. S as . Shes dead—and were alive.
Dainty came again t nigo bring me anot eat any of it. e only togetalked of o tc off to climb it. I didnt say t to Dainty. S t, said t it rue, after all, t, o dropping Mrs Sucksby had held herself very boldly, and died very game.
I remembered t dangling tailors figure, gripped tigs corset and gown; and I wondered .
But t to be t on. to see to, no folloo look about me, ; to understand t t make my o, quite alone. I on t: a man y bared us alone since t knoo take it. But I kneime. I kne, I supposed, take a regular job, at a dairy, a dyers, a furriers— t of it, however, made
me to be sick. Everybody in my regular ay crooked. Dainty said sreet-ted a fourt s, not quite catc street-tty poor lay, compared to o.
But it mig t for finding out anytter. I t or t for anyt all. Bit by bit, everyt at Lant Street ill dress I ry!—and no looked Dr Cies, and till. Dainty said I so ston, you could h me.
And so, uff I ed to take o ool of t to call on, to say good-bye to, I could not t do, before I ; and t hings, from horsemonger Lane.
I took Dainty t I could bear it all alone. e , one day in September—more ter trial. London urned, and t last. treets and stra ter t me t me, I t, in pity. So did trons. tied rings. Released, to Dauge in a book; and t my name te my name quick as anyone noime at Dr Cies . . . tone upon her grave, so no-one could come and mourn her; and
took me out under te, s lo roof, roof every day of t o to say goodbye, to take my give it.
t. I carried it of dread; and to make it ime I reac Street, I staggering: I quickly to tcable, and set it do and look at all of be inside: ockings, perill in toes and ticoats; — Dont do it! I t. Leave it! ! Open it some otime, not today, not now—.
I sat, and looked at Dainty.
Dainty, I said, I dont think I can.
S her hand over mine.
I t to, ser our mots back from t t packet in a dra look at it for nearly a year; and ted t peris to noter on to remember Mot all; save a little che end, for gin-money . . .
I sa face ears.
All rig. Ill do it.
My ill so me and tried to undo its strings, I found trons ied too tigy tried. S undo t time, after Gentleman died, o look at any kind of blade, ake t a single s me—in tugged and picked at ts again, but no damp. At last,
I lifted to my moutook s eetrings unravelled and t of its folds. I started back. Mrs Sucksbys sticoats and comb came tumbling out upon table-top, looking just as I ar, came affeta gown.
I t of t. I? It t looked like Mrs Sucksby of sill o its breast. Someone —I didnt care about t—but t
poaffeta itself iff. t rusty. t raced about e: t, and ain h chalk.
to me like marks on Mrs Sucksbys own body.
Oy, I said, I cant bear it! Fetcer, o rub. Dainty rubbed, too. e rubbed in t t. t up to me and began to .
And, as I did, tling, sound.
Dainty put do? s knohe sound came again.
Is it a moty. Is it flapping about, inside?
I s t sounds like a paper. Perrons somethere
But , and looked inside, t all. tling came again, seemed to me t it came from part of t part of t of t my o it, and felt about. taffeta tiff—stiff not just from taining of Gentlemans blood, but from somet
stuck, or been put, be, bet and tin lining of t ? I could not tell, from feeling. So turned t, and looked at tin to fray. It made a sort of pocket, in t Dainty; t in my rustled again, and she drew back.
Are you sure it aint a mot?
But ter. Mrs Sucksby guess. I t at first t s it t sten it, in gaol—t it o find, after t made me nervous. But tter lemans blood; and so must least. t seemed to me t it must : for as I looked more closely at it I sa. taffeta bodice , tig ays. the seal—
I looked at Dainty. t? ter, so close, so carefully, so long—and yet not read it? I turned it in my tion. here? I said. Can you see?
Dainty looked, t you? s I could not. ing ly smeared and spotted ains, I to tter close to t seemed to me at last t if any name ten t an S, and t follo; and then, again, an s—
I gre? said Dainty, seeing my face.
I dont knoters for me.
S o her! she said.
My mother?
to open it.
I dont know.
But say it tells you— Say it tells you s a map!
I didnt t my stomac tter, at t, I said. Dainty licked ook it, slourned it, and slo, I tumbling of to t words, she said.
I to so nervous and afraid—so sure t tter for me, yet o some a till, to open before me, not being able to understand said, hing.
Come on, I said to Dainty. I got , and found mine. Come out to treet, and o read it for us.
e t ask anyone I kneranger. So nort fast, toray on a string about meg-graters and t knoelligent look.
I said,hell do.
a grater, girls?
I sen ried to say, for taken te from me. I put my o my . Do you read? I asked last.
he said, Read?
Letters, in ladies books, I mean.
tilted his head.
-anyone
to be opened, eent t. notice. Instead, raig in my line, o stand letters. t aint a-going to make t. . .?
Some people y did the same.
Sevenpence, I said, ogeturned they good? Good enough, I said.
. ook t s see, up, tung by t not it to come out later, as ouc. . . ready to read.
All t are there, I said, as he did. Every one. Do you hear?
o be opened on teenter, Susan Lilly—
I put trinder, I said. Susan trinder, you mean. You are reading it wrong.
Susan Lilly, it says, up, nourn it. s t, I said, if you aint going to read here . . .?
But my voice to my , a snake: it ight.
Come on, eresting, t is it? A , or a testament? t statement— t Lant Street, Soutember 1844, in topped. of voice. , tiff stuff, aint it?
I did not ans tains.
Per. No , all rigs see. s closer. 7, Marianne Lilly, of—? Bear my o daug about? ts better——o t srue birto be made knoo eent 1862; on o e fortune.
In excs into my care er MAUD— Bless me, if you aint doing it again! nice, cant you?—dear daug s of il tioned date; on is my desire t to une.
to be a true and legally binding statement of my beto be recognised in Law.
Susan Lilly to kno t srove to keep her from care.
Maud Sucksby to be raised a gentleo kno raigell me t , mind, I s more.— going to faint, are you?
I c ray. ers sliding. Noake care, do! ock, look, going to tumble and get mashed—
Dainty came and caught me. I am sorry, I said. I am sorry.
All rig ters straight.
Yes.
Come as a s?
I s remember—and
gripped tter, and stumbled from y, I said. Dainty—
S me do a ? s did it mean?
till looked. I s er, he called.
But I didnt er, and I let Dainty go. I clutco me and put my face against o so sed lock must sumblers lift against t is forced loose and flies. My mot finis oo muco say— too muco kno believe it. I t of ture of t Briar. I t of t Maud o rub and trim. I t of Maud, and Mrs Sucksby; and tleman. O! , too. Noo tell me, at t t so long? my mot a murderess, sune, t s to be split . . .
// you shink back—
I t, and t; and began to gro tter before my face and groaned. till stood a little cood coo. Drunk, is s t, a spoon in ongue. I could not bear ty and got to my feet; s me and agger o drink. S me at table. Mrs Sucksbys dress still lay upon it: I took it up and in my ts, and s folds; t, and cast it to t tter, and looked again at t to my feet and began to walk.
Dainty, I said in a sort of pant, as I did. Dainty, s have
kno Gentlemans side, kno last to— O me t place and bring was only ever Maud sed. S me safe, and gave me up, so Maud, so Maud—
But till. I arting up ting me e me, to save me kno...
I put my out y began to oo.
is it? s is it?
t tears. t thing of all!
I sa, sning in a sky of black. Maud ried to save me, and I knoo kill ime—
And I let ting up and . here is she, now?
y, almost shrieking.
Maud!I said. Oh, Maud!
Miss Lilly?
Miss Sucksby, call o t s you all in o time wood, pinning up urned— If I had known— I would have kissed her—
Kissed y.
Kissed y, you would oo! Anyone would! S hrown her away—!
So I on. Dainty tried to calm me, and could not. I last, I sank and rise. Dainty and pleaded—took up er and t in my face— ran doreet to a neigtle of salts; but I lay, as if dead. I sick. I sick in a moment, like t.
So my old room and put me to sleep in my oo take my goalked like a madartan, and india-rubber boots, and—most especially—of sometaken, t I s. ? s? O so often, so pitifully, s me all my t finally s of my goe creased and black and bitten; and t ook it from and over it as if my would break.
I dont remember. I kept in a fever for nearly a er t so feeble I migill. Dainty nursed me, all t time—feeding me tea and soups and gruels, lifting me so I mig, from my face. I still , and cursed and ted, I more, ime I of dam about my , keeping out my love: no, my I s gre seemed to me at last t I o Dainty; Id say it, over and over. But Id say it steadily—in a ; t back my strengt I mean to find care if it takes me all my life. Ill find , and tell I kno be married! I dont care. Ill find ell ;
It of. I ing, to be art. And at last I t I ed enoug o seem to tilt and turn, ill. I o take o oolter, and tucked it into my goy t I
must o my fever. t I o cry.
? s to start my searc Briar. But t, s y minutes. c , so long ago, in tarc s use to bury ake it. I kissed know . . .
And so I left time, and made to Briar, over again. time. train ran smoot Marlo me o take t ttle bag I ? And t time: Is no-one come to meet you?
I said I opped to rest on a stile, and a man and a girl by, , and t me and must I oo: for t me sit on t. t about my shoulders.
Going far? he said.
I said I o Briar, they could drop me anywhere near Briar—
to Briar! t. But, w you know?
Nobody t to be fed off a spoon. tleman! they said. he
of terrible . tank, in t t run off leman—did you kno t?—I didnt anso nurse e s up.
So Maud urned my c it doo ting of t. I said,
And t o her?
But t know. Some people said so o France . . .
Planning on visiting one of ts, my print dress. tsve all gone, too.—All gone but one, o keep t. S like ed, now.
. But I ed bloo suffer to Marlo t must be Mr ay. I t, Ill find ell me where shes gone . . .
So t me doarted; and from t. t ting to creep and rise. t it in illiam Inkers trap: I like an marked te, and t. I quickened my step—but t quite sank. t up and dark. tes ened ruck t made a lo of moaning sound. And o tes and pushey creaked and creaked.
Mr ay! I called. Mr ay! Anyone!
My voice made a dozen black birds start out of t, Surely t it didnt: t caime; and no-one came. So t t o keep out co, Its not against to hrough.
toget my back, arted up again. Still no-one came, though.
I gave it a minute, to walk.
It seemed quieter inside t er, and queer. I kept to trees seem to , and clung to my skirt. er. oo, and parc beaten about urning to slime at its tips, and smelt peculiar. I t. Pers. I hem scurrying as I walked.
I began to go quicker. to climb. I remembered driving along it urned, and ; but it still made me start, to come so suddenly upon to see it seem to rise out of topped, on t afraid. It ly quiet and dark. ttered. t its front door—t leaves. It seemed like a meant for people but for gs.
I remembered, suddenly, it being ed . . .
t made me s me—back, to dark and tangled o take back my ting rain. till c, If I can only find Mr ay! o o to tables and yards. I carefully, for my steps sounded loud. But as quiet and empty as everyed barking. table doors tuck, t cime I , I t range. Mr ay! I called—but I called it softly. It seemed o call out, here. Mr ay! Mr ay!
t gave me . I to tcapped. No ansried t to t I nig around to t again. I to a er, and looked inside. I could not see. I put my o to give against its bolt... I ated for almost a minute; t fles screed myself up on to the sill, and jumped inside.
tood, quite still. t must if Mr ay and came like a burglar, no of my mot . I began to ly about. t. I I o try and imagine Maud, as s,
o imagine ttle bites sake at ... I stepped to table. It ill set, icks, a knife and a fork, a plate of apples; but it and cobted. tal glass, the rim.
t t still, , it moved perfectly silently. All tly, in t y carpet, t smoteps.
So o to it and looked inside. t room e. t t Mr Lilly and Gentleman must once , to listen , t I imagined ting t voice.
I forgot to t Mr ay, remembering t. I forgot to t of. I to go doo tcead I slo t door. I climbed tairs. I ed to go to ed to stand, t ted to lie upon ed to t her . . .
I as a g ly, not minding tears as tears enougime o tanding part-ures ill , s one glass eye and pointed teet of my fingers to it, t time I came for Maud. I ed outside t of so fiercely of it, it seemed
to me at last t I could almost . I could as a he house.
I caugopped, tarted again. It in my o came, from to sed after all. Or pero t a trembling o it, and pus open. tood, and blinked. t bare of books. A little fire burned in te. I puss lamp .
And in t, was Maud.
Sting, ing. Surned . o a froce a line. ted turned and turned it, as if not sure o put next. Again s h.
te again; and to dip , sching.
S start. Sly still. S cry out. S say anyt first. S onis on ook a step; and as I did, s to , letting t roll across to te. So take migo fall, or sep, s harder.
o kill me?
S, in a sort of a just from astonis, but also from fear. t errible. I turned away, and hid my own face
in my ill , from my falling tears. Noears came and made it ter. Oh, Maud! I said- Oh, Maud!
I o , I er everyt trangeness of it. I pressed my fingers o my eyes. I ago, of . I to find , to come upon oo much.
I dont— I said. I cant— S come. Sood, still ill gripping teadily. there was a paper, I said. I found a paper, hidden in Mrs Sucksbys gown . . .
I felt tter, stiff, in my o s ans—and sa s paper it , and said. Despite myself, I of ing bier t a single moment; and left me to t sit upon to read it to me. And t sick.
I am sorry, she said. Sue, I am sorry.
Sill did not come to me, though. I wiped my face again.
I said, I got a lift here was nobody here, save Mr ay—
Mr ay? She frowned. Mr ay is gone -
A servant, they said.
illiam Inker, t . ays s all.
Only t me, and s you groened?
S o be frightened of, rnow?
to to trie first. ly.
us, about— Did you kno tart?0
Sly, too. Not t until Ricook me to London. t lifted old.
Not before? I said.
Not before.
tricked you, too, then.
I so t, once. No errible t nine monte, myself sink against t my c till. It struck t c brancangled make out ted roof of ttle red chapel.
My moto look at my mother was a murderess.
I t my motead—
S say it. Neit yet. But I turned to look at her again, and swallowed, and said,
You to see trons words.
She nodded. She spoke of you, she said.
Of me? did she say?
t s s en times over, before you s s t to make you a commonplace girl. t t aking a je. t dust falls away
I closed my eyes. last come closer.
Sue, shis house is yours.
I dont it, I said.
t, if you wis. You shall be rich.
I dont to be riced to.be ric—
But I ated. My oo full. oo close, too clear. I t —not at trial, but on t t Gentleman died. tered. t glitter no it back and tied it tremble. ts and smudges of ink. , too, from quite to t fastened at t. t undone. I saing of be. I looked away.
to her eyes.
I only you, I said.
took anotep to me and almost, almost reac turned and lo t o the paper and pen.
You do not knohings—
S go on. t ans closer to things?
My uncle— s me good. Didnt you? I . I to struggle to took up a book. S, tigo ; turned and broug to me. S up in tle. And t voice so read.
eous neck and bare ivory s my bosom in wild confusion—
? I said.
S ans look up; but turned t page and read from another.
I scarcely kne; everytive exertion—tongues, lips, bellies, arms, ttoms, every part in voluptuous motion.
Now my own c? I said, in a whisper.
Surned more pages, read again.
Quickly my daring secret treasure, regardless of complaints, ed into the covered way of love—
Sopped. ing . My oing ratill not quite understanding:
Your uncles books?
She nodded.
All, like this?
She nodded again.
Every one of this? Are you sure?
Quite sure.
I took t t on t looked like any book o me. So I put it do to t looked took up anot ures. You never saures like t Maud, and my seemed to shrink.
You kne all, I said. ts t t. You said t you kneime—
I did knohing, she said.
You kne all! You made me kiss you. You made me to kiss you again! ime, you had been coming here and—
My voice broke off. Sc of times I o t of o gentlemen—to Gentleman—ing tarts and custards iles and Mr ay. I put my o my . It ig me.
Oo to cry. to to my mout t ill it and let it drop as if it burned me. Oh!
It ood very still, the smears of ink on her fingers.
?
S answer.
to t sod! Oinking oo good for o look at you and see you ill you—!
I gazed across ted to smas to o dra any otime I should have called proud.
Dont pity me, s I am still my living.
S I e on. till damp. I asked a friend of my uncles, once, s e for me to a ressed gentle e suc, I am not a lady
I looked at understanding. I looked at t missed its beat.
You are ing books, like speaking. kno! I said. I cant believe it. Of all t Id find you— And to find you house—
I am not alone, sold you: I o care for me.
to find you ing books like t?-V
Again, s proud. I? she said.
I did not kno just dont seem right, I said. A girl, like you—
Like me? there are no girls like me.
I did not ans. I looked again at tly,
Is t?
Stle, se sly.
And you— You like it?
Sill it. . . S ill ce me for it? she said.
e you! I said. y proper reasons for ing you, already; and only—
Only love you, I ed to say. I didnt say it, t can I tell you? If sill be proud, t need to say it, anyill couldnt bear it. I quickly reacopped ; t my to rub at t, te skin; but s my ill. My t moved to like a pearl, urned my palm. . tayed black upon er all, I t, was only ink.
it o make o soo. I I mig! e moved apart. S . Sill fluttered to tooped and caug up and smoot.
does it say? I said, when I had.
S is filled you . . . Look.
Sook up t darker, till beat against t so t, and sat beside me. s rose in a rus t; and began to sten, one by one.
Notes
Many books provided orical detail and inspiration. Im particularly indebted to V.A.C. Gatrells tree: Execution and tention in a Private Asylum (London, 1910).
top ated bibliograporum: being Notes Bio- Biblio- Icono- grapical, on Curious and Uncommon Books (London, 1877); Centuria Librorum Absconditorum: being Notes Bio- Biblio- Icono- grapical, on Curious and Uncommon Books (London, 1879); and Catena Librorum tacendorum: being Notes Bio- Biblio- Icono- grapical, on Curious and Uncommon Books (London, 1885). Mr Lillys statements on book-collecting ec in all ots irely fictitious.
All of texts cited by Maud are real. tival of tain Dra, and tful turk. For publisails of these see Ashbee, above.