THE GHOST IN THE TALE
tfully I lifted my eyes from ter’s diary. A number of truck my attention as I , and no I o consider thodically.
O.
Oh.
And then, Oh!
o describe my eureka? It began as a stray ure, an implausible notion. It impossible per absurd! For a start—
About to begin marserarguments, I stopped dead in my tracks. For my mind, racing aself in a momentous act of premonition, ted to ts. In a single moment, a moment of vertiginous, kaleidoscopic bedazzlement, tory Miss inter old me unmade and remade itself, in every event identical, in every detail t entirely, profoundly different. Like t reveal a young bride if you ts of random dots t disguise teapots or cloo see trut.
t at a time, taking all t angles separately, I revieold and everyt. And yes, again. t, and t, and t, too. My neo tory. It began to breat did so, it began to mend. ts ed. Puzzles explained teries eries no longer.
At last, after all tale telling and all ter trick mirrors and the double bluffs, I knew.
I kne day s s.
I kneity of the garden.
I kneacked Mrs. Maudsley h a violin.
I knew whe-dig.
I knew who Emmeline was looking for underground.
Details fell into place. Emmeline talking to er tor’s appears and reappears in tory, like a silver tapestry. I understood teries of er’s urn of tood trangeness of Joo teaced o tend it.
I understood t, and of it. I understood a girl like Adeline could melt aer in her place.
‘I am