stle step is all t must be made. Do you see? ill you look? S. Sing. t piece of— O me find a matc!

    I glance at Sue. Be quiet, Richard.

    But t last comes a day, so close and airless, t overpo, tilts  to sime, ternoon is still and almost pleasant: ter, ts. I dra across trokes, and almost fall into slumber.

    turn to look at s o ly. And ures to Sue.

    Sill sits before turned boat, but  tten ip  it, curves to te asleep. ts against  of  are trips of pinking flesh.

    I look again at Ric urn back to my painting. I say quietly,  you wake her?

    S muco sunlig fondly, but laug tc sleep. S got   kno.

    , not  as if erest at tretcs to , and sneezes. troubles s o ly sniffs. I beg your pardon,  his handkerchief.

    Sue does not  frourns her head. her lower lip

    slig keeps its curve and point. I ed my brusouc once to my crumbling painting; no, till. I suppose udies me. I suppose t—for I find it later, black paint upon my blue go mark it as it falls,  is my not marking it, t betrays me. t, or my look. Sue froctle longer. turn, and find Richards eyes upon me.

    Oh, Maud, he says.

    t is all  in  last,  her.

    For a moment eps to me and takes my . tbrush falls.

    Come quickly, he says. Come quickly, before she wakes.

    akes me, stumbling, along ter flo top, s o my s.

    O. But this—!

    I urned my face from  feel  smile, I say, s laugh.

    Laug be glad I dont do s to ites are said to be pricked, by matters like