less it seems! But  so vividly of, in years—of t ics; and of t once ttings of coir, a piece of text on t is to do t sent me. I remember an attic stair, a ness of lead beneatful drop to the ground—

    I must fall into sleep, t plunge to t layers of t. But t quite  quite draugging of tly be my form in t seems sing and queer—no say o s. I call for Agnes. I e forgotten t sten Ric. I call for Agnes, and it seems to me s so take a do it to punis take t! I say; but sakes it, serrible darkness and I , beyond tain. It seems to me t mucime passes before t comes back. But  and sees my face, she screams.

    Dont look at me! I cry. And t leave me! For I , if say, some calamity, some dreadful t kno, cannot name it—ed; and I—

    or sne—o be freckled. I gaze at  know her.

    S is strange to me: Its Sue, miss. Only Sue. You see me? You are dreaming.

    Dreaming?

    Souc like Agnes, after all, but like— Like no-one. Ss Sue. t Agnes ina, and is gone back  lie dont be ill.

    I s; t once and I kno, my ungaugeable future. Sranger to me, but part of it all.

    Dont leave me, Sue! I say.

    I feel ate. ig so climb across me, and s and lies  me,  my hair.

    S soon lie still. t. I feel t of le rumble of  you? Good girl.

    Good girl, s been since anyone at Briar believed me good? But s. S believe it, for t. I must be good, and kind, and simple. Isnt gold said to be good? I am like gold to er all. So ruin me; but, not yet. For no, to squander—

    I kno