dot of a girl, to be so naugiles says stle tartar as you.  you be good?

    I   morning I upturn my c and tread to t. Mrs Stiles trikes my face. to my uncles door.

    of us. Good God, ?

    Oful thing, sir!

    Not more of  break out, among the books?

    But s ime at me. I stand very stiff,  my  face, my pale  my shoulders.

    At lengtakes off acles and closes o me, and very soft at to the bridge of his nose, and pinches.

    ell, Maud, , tiles, and aff, all ing on your good manners. I ter to find you biddable. os  s only to examine your c is , I tiless

    is cool, hmm?

    -edged, for cutting pages. oops and puts t against my face. ens me.  as a girls. o see you , Maud. Indeed I am. Do you suppose I  you  t? It is you  it, since you provoke it so. I t like to be struck.—t is cooler, is it not? urned the blade. I shiver. My bare arms

    creep ing, s, on your good manners. ell,  t, at Briar. e can , and , and  again. Mrs Stiles and my staff are paid to do it; I am a sco it by nature. Look about you  my collection. Do you suppose tient man? My books come to me sloedly passed many tedious ation of poorer volumes t mig; moves t of to a spot beneatilts up my face and looks it over. ts tucks tacles behind his ears.

    I advise you to wiles, roublesome again.

    Perer all, and may be broken. My uncle returns to o my se is not t of a  is y of patience. tience so terrible as t of tics labour at endless tasks—conveying sand from one leaking cu