k ed ; be?quot; raig me, as if accusing me of a heinous crime.

    quot;But I didnt tell—quot;

    quot;Not you, Aniday,quot;  out. quot;took your place.quot;

    quot;C; said Ccions. e trudged e o grieve. e took t of t t beoic and impassive, accepting t saying next to not summer and into tions revolved around finding meaning in t to convince us t a betrayal  t to get us and t it ter of time before Kivi and Blomma s urn, t us doook a more tful view.

    Luc;ted to leave, and it ter of time. I only  t sent off to live in a zoo or put under tist.quot;

    e never hing.

    More ted  s a feeal ao sleep in relative peace and luxury beneato our books and papers. e read translation, Clytemnestra in igones ing of eart. terbury and lives on t of y in all of Sons angels and auroctle, yaasies of Keats. Sein. Rip Van inkle sleeping it off. Speck insisted on Austen, Eliot, Emerson, tes, Alcott, Nesbitt, Rossetti, bot  up to t age, che books like a pair of silverfish.

    Sometimes, Speck o me. I  a beat, s ened me from t;t; S me to tears over Ben Jonsons dro. S;t Brigadequot; and tennysons quot;Ulysses.quot; I loved tcer season. In time ened in t of t sometimes all I could see  space,  from t ty years togeted ao so say a word and break my .