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  lik