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上一页 书架管理 下一章
Chapter Eight
uc.  my fingers and tands, straig. t breaks t of place. I ,  you very late. You must be cold, and tired.

    crengto groful. I s be troubled— too troubled—by all Ive said?

    I s I am afraid to rise from tremble upon my legs and seem to him weak. I say, ill you go?

    You are sure?

    Quite sure. I ster if you leave me.

    Of course.

    o say more. I turn my face and  let ime read upon t, tle opening and closing of t a moment, t my feet, tuck ts of my cloak about my legs, raise my y sofa cushion.

    t my bed, and trait, my box, my maid—about me, t I like to  tonig of tterns urbed. My liberty beckons: gaugeless, fearful, inevitable as death.

    I sleep, and dream I am moving, sly, in a , upon a dark and silent er.
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