My old life groo times emerges to darken or trouble it, in dreams and  as trokes of forgotten lessons noart out upon the pages of my copy-book.

    My proper mote. Didnt srait in a little   o loat. Let me kiss mama good-nigime, unlocking my box. But I do it only to torment Mrs Stiles. I raise ture to my lips and,  nig which

    follo  last, as a clock must tick to a regular beat, I find I must do it or lie fretful in my bed. And trait must be set doly, s ribbon quite uncreased. If trikes t lining of too ake it out and set it down carefully again.

    Mrs Stiles c, e still until Barbara comes.

    Meanertaining gentlemen at Briar: noexts, not understanding tter I am made to recite; and tlemen—like Mrs Stiles—crangely. I groo t.  my uncles instruction I curtsey. I curtsey lemen clap, to sroke my ell me, often, heir gazes.

    So  my uncles room to find my little desk removed, and a place made ready for me among o him.

    take off your gloves, o touc is a cold, still, sunless day. I  Briar, t begun to bleed as women do.

    ell, Maud, says my uncle. At last you cross to my books. You are about to learn ty of your vocation. Are you afraid?

    A little, sir.

    You do o be. For ter. You think me a scholar, hmm?

    Yes, sir.

    ell, I am more t. I am a curator of poisons. tly puts  pile of ink-stained papers t litter heir Index.

    tion and proper study. t so perfect as t is complete. I ed many years to its construction and revision; and s