My story isn’t boring you, is it, Miss Lea?“ I endured a number of sucs to suppress my yaed and rubbed my eyes o Miss inter’s narration.

    ‘I’m sorry. I’m just tired.“

    ‘tired!“ s you rigever’s tter h you?“

    I s tired. t’s all.”

    Sernly, but I said notook up ory.

    For six mont on. e sequestered ourselves in a cill slept at nigairs to get from tco t seemed secure. ttresses  on oo o move. t too big any more at ease in ty, ty of our smaller accommodation. All te forget t of tering behind closed doors, like a moribund limb.

    Emmeline spent mucime inventing card games. “Play er. Eventually I gave in and played. Obscure games ing rules, games only sood, and  deligook bat  er, spent ing in ter I’d ed for t begrudge  ter if at least one of us could be happy.

    Before o Isabelle and taken dresses and scent bottles and se of a bedroom. It rying to sleep in a dressing-up box. Emmeline  of date by ten years, oto Isabelle’s moty and forty years old. Emmeline entertained us in tic entrances into tcravagant outfits. teen; ter’s conversation or in t marry one day—and I remembered old me about Isabelle and t look at  ing to touc a sudden anxiety. But tcook a pack of cards from a silk purse and said, all c still, I made sure s leave the house in her finery.

    Joless. o do t a boy to ’ll be all rig’s only old Proctor’s boy, Ambrose.  lad. It  be for long. Only till I get the house fixed up.”

    t, I kneake forever.

    taller tood s, tarte