so mucs as by y of . I sit at my supper, I eat, I read; I return to Sue and let ake and at t fully, from foot to foot. Look at tly,  it is! Look at t time is it? Not eleven, yet?—to ter, no;

    to do, before I go: one deed—one terrible deed—to goad and console me, tten-do Briar; and no nears, as t, still, unsuspecting, I do it. Sue leaves me, to look over our bags. I ening buckles.—t is all I  for.

    I go stealt need a lamp, and my dark dress o tairs, cross quickly ts of moonlig ten. Silence. So to t  t door I pause again, and listen again, to be sure t all is still hin.

    to my uncles rooms. I ered , as I guess, t greased, and turn  a sound. tep.

    look at to  my ear to take turn it. One incen again. If irs, I urn and go. Does ill I , uncertain. t, even rasp of hing.

    ains pulled close but keeps a ligable: to me, I so be nervous of t t  moving from my place beside t me; and at last see to take. On and, beside er: c, to ; and his razor.

    I go quickly and take tly, I feel it slit my glove. If it s does not fall. t, ts clasp, at an angle, ss edge. I pull it a little freer, and turn it to t: it must be s I  it for. I t is s my el, picked out against t pass for a girl in an allegory. Confidence Abused.

    Beo my uncles bed do not quite meet. In t of lig is , but rato , like a c is drao ig out ter dreams, pering spines. acles sit neatly, as if able beside h

    t eyes ture. the razor is warming in my hand . . .

    But t t kind of story. No