’s laconic message. Isabelle’s role in ture from it  conventional terms: Mucer, so a better place. But I copied it into my notebook all tion. Younger t so tragically young as  still, not an age to die.

    I almost missed Ced every otone in t to give up, one. So small , and so black, t it seemed designed for invisibility, or at least insignificance. to give relief to tters so, unable to make t by eye, I raised my  tyle, ips, one  a time.

    CO t.

    E ShALL NEVER SEE hIM MORE.

    tes.

    I felt a sudden ced t Vida inter? And  seemed to me t tain ambiguity in t t? Or triump fareo a bad lot?

    Leaving to tes, I felt a lig ? t, per eyes of tself? Most probably it  a deer, che woods.

    ‘It’s a s evening, ”t you can’t come home for a few hours.“

    ‘I am ested, feigning ignorance. But I kne alking about. trut I couldn’t bear inny brigine paleness of  in my mot ty daugness ay ale time,“ I explained. ”Miss inter is anxious t ill Cmas, after all. I’ll be back again then.“

    ‘Yes,“  will be Cmas soon.“

    do anyt it.

    ‘I’ve packed a feo take back to Miss inter’s  a note on the index.“

    ‘t’s fine. No problem.“

    t nig of sleep, a pressure on ty of bone pressing against my fleshes.

    It is  last!

    All I o do is open my eyes and look at  fear paralyzes me.   is t from t terrible t t I am about to join myself—rejoin myself—to?

    the fear dissolves.

    I have woken up.

    ts is gone, a figment of sleep. I do