ning eye at me. I took up t ligc delivering my letters.

    “Ser of Master Enis of he poor girl.”

    I cackled and stepped outside, but t. If trutold, I longed to sear for Sead of making ligiful s dark-eyed melancholy girl of mine!

    I ever so quickly strode past ted and pitiful in ter, reet, I sed as loud as I could, “Clothierrr!”

    “Fat c sed I steps.”

    “You good-for-noted tatar! Blind men like you are scourges forsaken by Alla you deserve.”

    In t, suc  aken tleman and polite.

    “Let’s   ime?” he said.

    “Is t slotill asleep?”

    “ing, expecting news from you.”

    t eacime I visit, I feel as if I’ve entered a tomb. S to, but I al of carping about t even consider returning to t. It’s o imagine t lovely Sress of t s smelled of sleep and deatered t room, moving farto the blackness.

    You couldn’t see your  even o present tter to  of tc from my  o read tter and satisfy y. he page.

    “Isn’t te,” s to our  I’ve  you  ten even a single line of my fat get your  first completing t manuscript.

    Letter in o my eyes, as if all t. I’m not fond of this house.

    “turning from t,” he said. “hy?”

    “ tes tters.”

    “Sometimes I  t,” ter along een silver.

    “Some men groingier t t way,” I said.

    ting, intelligent side to t despite all raits, one could see  ters.

    “ is ther?”

    “You knoan is funding t they say.”

    “Miniaturists are murdering eacures in t book,”  for tes our religion? t its