I am perfectly  not trouble. I am only tired, suddenly. I am sorry.

    Sorry? Poorey. It is , and overtask your niece most miserably.

    I al, and ake your mistresss arm. Go steadily, now.

    Sairs? Mr ands in to mount t I do not catch his eye.

    me for some cool to put upon my face. I finally go to tel, and lean my c the looking-glass.

    Your skirts, miss! says Agnes. She fire.

    I feel queer, dislocated. t c sounds, I ter. I  t  kno, ands aill gathered in her hands.

    trikes. I step back, t  beats a little smoots me in my bed, unlooses tains—no mig, any at all. I ening  my ains I  to be taken y as she slumbers.

    , I unlock my little rait. I close my eyes. I t study your face!—but, once  it, I kno do it or lie sleepless and grow ill. I look o her, he said, and feel her madness in you?

    Do I?

    I put trait ao bring me a tumbler of er. I take a drop of my old medicine—t t ake anotill, my  back. My o tingle. Agnes stands and s.  doe stuff of dress. One slender collar-bone is marked a delicate blue  is

    per mig remember—be a bruise.

    I feel t last, sour in my stomach.

    ts all, I say. Go on.

    I o s. ter a little time t groan of macing its gears. I lie and  for sleep. It does not come. Instead, my limbs groless and begin to tcoo  of it, at ts of my fingers and my toes. I raise my ly: Agnes! S  fears to ans last, t up, lie still. trikes. tairs: tlemen are leaving to te chambers.

    Per if I do, it is only