ney, Mr Rivers . I s te he offers.

    Im afraid youre not ly, ching my face.

    Dont you care for goose, Miss Lilly? asks Mr rey. Nor does my eldest daugearful.

    I cears and keep ten to see tears of a girl made into an ink.

    An ink? Dont mention it to my daug I must s, is one tc be he living.

    tears, for ink? says my uncle, a beat be rubbishis?

    Girls tears, says Mr huss.

    Quite colourless.

    I t. truly, sir, I t. I fancy tely tinged—per.

    Perrey, as depending on tion t hem?

    Exactly. You  it, rey, t tears, for a melanc migoo, ;  me and s o h.

    No t tempted. Mr Lilly? One ories of course, of hides and bindings

    time. Mr Rivers listens but says nottention is all alk. I . I sip my  suppers like tedious points in small, tigoo many times. Unexpectedly, I teasing a bead of blood from , and I blink.

    So, Rivers, rey tells me ranslating, Frencter into Englisuff, I suppose, if .

    Poor stuff indeed, anstempt it. It is erms; but it udent of ts t I ely to find a better application for my talents, sir, the conjuring of bad English from worse French.

    ell, ures.

    Very much indeed.

    ell, anot. than for my books, however. Youve heard, perhaps—he pauses—of my Index?

    Mr Rivers inclines  sounds a marvellous thing.

    Pretty marvellous—e, are ? Do we blush?

    I know my own curns, searcful gaze.

    ly.

    e are close, ansation h finishers.

    And th?

    A thousand page