sand from tes of grit surbed er.

    All time Miss inter tled and ter returned to its quietness, slotled in ting ory,” I said. “And you told me you didn’t have one.”

    “Now you know, I do have one.”

    ‘I never doubted it.“ Sful smile. ”ed you  I kneory already. I  t . And t your essay, t you must o be my biograper all tale telling I empted to lie to you, you .“

    ‘I .“

    Sranquil, sad, unsurprised. “About time, too. how much do you know? ”

    ‘ you told me. Only a subplot, is  it. You told me tory of Isabelle and  paying attention. t ing me in tion of Jane Eyre. t tsider in t kno Angelfield  her.“

    Sadly s o tions is dead, Margaret.”

    ‘Can’t you remember?“

    ‘I am  remember my birtime o ourselves, tle c is somet ernity ago, at time. e live like latecomers at ter;  catc er events. imes o to t it is not only memories t s of pasmagoria t in t realm. tmares of a lonely cales appropriated by a mind ory. tasies of an imaginative little girl anxious to explain to ever story I may ier of forgetting, I do not pretend to myself t it is truth.“

    “All ch.”

    ‘Quite. t Joold me.“

    ‘And w did ell you?“

    ‘t I appeared like a rawberries.“

    Sold me tory.

    Someone ting at tra birds, because t pitted berries. And not trampled ts and left footprints all over t. No, some liged taking a berry ly,  disturbing a t even iced. ticed a pool of er under ap. tap urn, tig up. c about   an eye out.

    t day ratle scarecro dr