Chapter Nine (第1/2页)
I suppose t even t is so ill slender and even t draugging of ion. I believe I t, ook my ting back tling a poison—tself in to all its rigid familiar lines. I lie and c. I knooeness of Briar—at tillness, turning passages and cluttered trao me for ever, I felt trangeness make me strange— make me a ts and er in t of t Briar crept on me. Briar absorbed me. No of th which I have covered
myself and t meant to escape! Briar me!
But, I am into doug utterly. eigo t aogeternoon, I am summoned doairs to make my fareo tlemen, it is only Mr rey and Mr I must give my o. I find tening tcoats, draands, a little makes ure. tep and lift to crey smiles.
ea, he says.
Mr on . No off. tatue?
ell, botrey says; but I meant tatue. Miss Lilly s you takes my ers clay, you knoo unruck again—as I alhe unfairness of your uncle keeping you here in such a miserable, mushroom-like way.
I am quite used to it, I say quietly. Besides, I t go h you?
t. Really, Mr Lilly, I barely make out ttons on my coat. Do you mean o join civilised society, and bring gas to Briar?
Not while I keep books, says my uncle.
Say hen. Rivers, gas poisons books. Did you know?
I did not, says Ris to me, and adds, in a lo to go up to London just yet. Your uncle o offer me a little work among s. e s seems, for Morland.
rey says,
Nos is in progress, you let your niece make a visit to reet? S you like a you should.
S, says my uncle.
Mr is ting. akes tips of my fingers. Miss Lilly, ever—
e e, says my uncle. Noedious. ep back from t;
Fools, lemen e, Im impatient to begin. You ools?
I fetc.
o follourns, to look at me. of o airs. But , , raises my to s at trip of skin exposed. my d of matter mus pale, now!
I ill laugs fall my urns from me, begins to mount tairs alone. list slippers, t soged ce a and make umble.
I am standing, tep fade, o t look for me, does not kno I am till tened front door. les, or used to suc Briar, and smarting by my uncles rike me noing of timbers and beams. I t must be rising in a cloud from tique carpets beh his
so follo flake and tumble from the
sighe house walls crag__
gaping—collapsing in to escape.
But I am afraid, too, of esg. I t. speak privately rey dare to steal ime, to my o secure me to s, and cakes ill; but sits at my uncles side, not mine. One nigion to say this:
It troubles me, Miss Lilly, to t be, ion from o return to your he books.
tting my gaze fall to my plate of broke: Very much, of course.
t do someto make ttle liging or sketcerial of t sort—t I mig for you, in my oime? I t. For I see you s, from the house.
or of music migon. Of course, I am not obedient. I say, I ot paint, or draw. I aug.
, never?—Five me, Mr Lilly. Your rikes one as being so petent a mistress of ts, I s, you krouble. Miss Lilly could take lessons from me, sir. Mig teaoons? I tle experien taug Paris, to ters of a te.
My uncle scre ? Do you mean to assist us, Maud, in the albums?
I mean dras own sake, sir, says Ricly, before I reply.
For its o me. Maud, w do you
say?
Im afraid I have no skill.
No skill? ell, t may be true. Certainly your ends to slope, even noell me, Rivers: sru in drawing he firmness of my nieces hand?
I s definitely.
t Mr Rivers teac care, anyo imagine you idle. hmm?
Yes, sir, I say.
Ric guards a cats eye as it slumbers. My uncle bending to e, s my look: timacy of his expression makes me shudder.
Dont misuand me. Dont ts true I s—fear of its success, as s failure. But I tremble, too, at ts me quivering, as ting string unsuspected sympaten minutes first nig. If I never kne villainy before—or if, kno, I never —I kno, , now.
I kno, and. S gallantry. It is gallantry!—try ues. Sc out paper, leads and paints. Sake my side, guide my fingers in to rise—but his
fall, insinuate, a, like a musiote, stay clear; and , point by point across il t. Very good, er h an able girl. Very good. You learn quickly
raig back Agnes and find ter ao your mistresss gifts as an artist? O o judge.
take up a pencil, go closer to ter. you try?
Once akes at ouc. You dont suppose I mean to insult you? No, sir!
ell, wtle warm, sir. arm, in December—?
And so on. alent for torment, quite as polis, in to groious. I do not. teases, top, revolving faster at taunt her myself.
Agnes, I say, op , feel t. Do you t in your eye! And dont young girls handsome men?
Indeed, miss, I dont know!
Do you say t? t part of . ill you put t, wive you? Do you
t five a red t ss io be so. o put a passion in o punis. Dont you t you feel your passion, you listen for tep?
S. S, against s only say it, or t say it and be bruised, a of e; and I must bruise bruise ing of ——I would surely feel myself.
I never do feel it. Dont imagine I do. Does de Merteuil feel it, for Valmont? I dont to feel it. I se myself, if I did! For I kno, from my uncles books, for too squalid a tcco be satisfied icly, ly, in closets airring in my breast—t dark propinquity—is sometoget say, it rises like a ss tains, already; and so no-one marks it.
No-one, periles. For I t Ricleman o be. I catcimes. I believe so c me and do me , t—and io herself; and nurses her hope of my ruin, smiling, as she onursed her dying child.
tals rap is made, t prime it and ss teet is all plete— Now, says Richard, our work begins.
e must get rid of Agnes.
in a t over so coolly, eady a gaze, I am almost afraid of me.
You kno , he says.
Of course.
And you uand how?
I , until t. Now I see his face.
Its quite tuous girls like t. ill stop up a moutter even tbruss to o run t trouble ails, muco it. Not muc all— ill fair?
Quite fair, sir.
Good. Very good . . . t I suppose lobruso ongue and sucks to a point. Ill do it tonigfully. So o yours. All you must do is, give me fifteen minutes alone me—and not e, if s.
It il t, a sort of game. Dolemen and young ladies, in try and intrigue? No failing, or s. nig look at urn my o your room, tate—perc cco cry out, after all. So keep from going to kno, s, s ion and t t drops, is stifled or soot to of all: not an absence of sound, but teeming—as ter teems, wh kicks and squirming
movements. I imagine back—but e e mout his—
I put my o my oop up my ears. I dont ay closed; take drops, at last, to day, e. I s o s is red and raised and swollen.
Scarlet fever, s meeting my gaze.
tion. Fears, of t! So an attid plates of vinegar burned in only oo make me t. I reag a blow; I only kiss ly, on .
t me in s.
You are soft on me noo y. Id like to see you bruise him, before he bruises you.
tle—but only a little; and o me t I fet s are all off my self, live to anottern—live patterns, books! I will ban paper from my house!
I lie upon my bed and try to imagi I ake, in London. I ot do it. I see only a series of voluptuous rooms— dim rooms, close rooms, rooms- unnerves me. I give it up. time, I am sure of it.
I rise and y, pig to to ted by crooks, I ting off and , ing off a set of vicious faces—Mrs Vixey Doxy, Jenny Diver, Molly Brazen—until he face he seeks . . .
Suky tawdry.
is blue. I begin to dream of he dreams she speaks and I hear her voice. She says my name, and laughs.
I t es to my room ter, from him.
Ses.
I read it, tter to my mout my lips to t be my lover, after all—or, s. For I could not han I could a lover.
But I could not a lover, more t freedom.
I put ter upon t once. I am sure I so me for ing from London, .
t done, I need only , one day a is the day she es.
S Marlo time. But t ao feel rap es back rains are late, t settle. At five oclock I send illiam again—again take supper my h?—My uncle hearing me whisper, however, he sends Charles away.
Do you prefer to talk s, Maud, t us.
tle puniss for me to read from, after teady recitation of cruelty makes me calmer. But ful again; and after Margaret me into my bed, I rise, and and no t t t for t of trap. t. It so gloo so flasion of trap berees, like a te, my my . It dra, t, illiam, a vaguer figure. to to Agness room—Susans room, it and at there; and finally see her.
Sing tables, t and o t her face. She is dressed darkly, and seems small.
But, s is real.—I feel t all at once, and tremble.
It is too late to receive ead I must furt to lie, ep and murmur, my eyes upon ted lies between her chamber and
mine.
Once I rise and go stealto it, and put my ear to t hing.
m I carefully dress me, and ?
Yes, miss.
Do you think she will do?
Do, miss?
As girl to me.
Sosses imes to Frand I dont know w.
ell, be kind to o er London. Siles bring o me, so soon as saken ?
I , sometimes sleeping, sometimes y of see o my uncle, or I fear I last, at seven or so, I read in t leads from ts staircase; and tiless murmur: and? I stand at t? Does s? Does siles es first and, after a moments ation, sao take my life from me and give me freedom.
Sation, es dismay. I s, spotted t. to a point. oo frank, noakes in my googs. training, I suppose—makes a y curtsey. Ssey, I tell. Ss me, more t so Briar to ruin me. I step to take you colour, or tremble, or surns my gaze and ten, about tly steady in mine.
e are ciles. for, to London. S good enoughink.
You need not stay, Mrs Stiles, I say. And turns to go: But you Susan. Youve I am an orpo Briar as a c all
to care for me. I ot tell you all tiles a mot time . . .
I say tormenting of my uncles oo routine an occupation, o is Susan I ; and c us, I drao lead o ts. Souc is as slender as Agness, but at all , but lig; tries to make it ser. Sells me of rain from London— of naming it, of sidering it a place of destination or desire. It is a orment to me t a girl so sligrifling as s Briar; but a solation, also— for if s not I, alents, tter?
So I tell myself, ress, of course, e a fine lady? So look at me!
My voice is not quite steady. But if ttero my tone, s catstead, Ooo kind a lady. And besides, s grand clot tons; but t it i ts.
Saken aken in, by ion—so i, not sly—I sit a moment and regard ake . her fingers move in mine.
Lady Alice always said so, miss, she says.
Did she?
Yes, miss.
to , and brings out a letter. It is folded, sealed, directed in an
affected femie, take it—rise and , far from her gaze.
No names! it says;—but I t frestle
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I suppose t even t is so ill slender and even t draugging of ion. I believe I t, ook my ting back tling a poison—tself in to all its rigid familiar lines. I lie and c. I knooeness of Briar—at tillness, turning passages and cluttered trao me for ever, I felt trangeness make me strange— make me a ts and er in t of t Briar crept on me. Briar absorbed me. No of th which I have covered
myself and t meant to escape! Briar me!
But, I am into doug utterly. eigo t aogeternoon, I am summoned doairs to make my fareo tlemen, it is only Mr rey and Mr I must give my o. I find tening tcoats, draands, a little makes ure. tep and lift to crey smiles.
ea, he says.
Mr on . No off. tatue?
ell, botrey says; but I meant tatue. Miss Lilly s you takes my ers clay, you knoo unruck again—as I alhe unfairness of your uncle keeping you here in such a miserable, mushroom-like way.
I am quite used to it, I say quietly. Besides, I t go h you?
t. Really, Mr Lilly, I barely make out ttons on my coat. Do you mean o join civilised society, and bring gas to Briar?
Not while I keep books, says my uncle.
Say hen. Rivers, gas poisons books. Did you know?
I did not, says Ris to me, and adds, in a lo to go up to London just yet. Your uncle o offer me a little work among s. e s seems, for Morland.
rey says,
Nos is in progress, you let your niece make a visit to reet? S you like a you should.
S, says my uncle.
Mr is ting. akes tips of my fingers. Miss Lilly, ever—
e e, says my uncle. Noedious. ep back from t;
Fools, lemen e, Im impatient to begin. You ools?
I fetc.
o follourns, to look at me. of o airs. But , , raises my to s at trip of skin exposed. my d of matter mus pale, now!
I ill laugs fall my urns from me, begins to mount tairs alone. list slippers, t soged ce a and make umble.
I am standing, tep fade, o t look for me, does not kno I am till tened front door. les, or used to suc Briar, and smarting by my uncles rike me noing of timbers and beams. I t must be rising in a cloud from tique carpets beh his
so follo flake and tumble from the
sighe house walls crag__
gaping—collapsing in to escape.
But I am afraid, too, of esg. I t. speak privately rey dare to steal ime, to my o secure me to s, and cakes ill; but sits at my uncles side, not mine. One nigion to say this:
It troubles me, Miss Lilly, to t be, ion from o return to your he books.
tting my gaze fall to my plate of broke: Very much, of course.
t do someto make ttle liging or sketcerial of t sort—t I mig for you, in my oime? I t. For I see you s, from the house.
or of music migon. Of course, I am not obedient. I say, I ot paint, or draw. I aug.
, never?—Five me, Mr Lilly. Your rikes one as being so petent a mistress of ts, I s, you krouble. Miss Lilly could take lessons from me, sir. Mig teaoons? I tle experien taug Paris, to ters of a te.
My uncle scre ? Do you mean to assist us, Maud, in the albums?
I mean dras own sake, sir, says Ricly, before I reply.
For its o me. Maud, w do you
say?
Im afraid I have no skill.
No skill? ell, t may be true. Certainly your ends to slope, even noell me, Rivers: sru in drawing he firmness of my nieces hand?
I s definitely.
t Mr Rivers teac care, anyo imagine you idle. hmm?
Yes, sir, I say.
Ric guards a cats eye as it slumbers. My uncle bending to e, s my look: timacy of his expression makes me shudder.
Dont misuand me. Dont ts true I s—fear of its success, as s failure. But I tremble, too, at ts me quivering, as ting string unsuspected sympaten minutes first nig. If I never kne villainy before—or if, kno, I never —I kno, , now.
I kno, and. S gallantry. It is gallantry!—try ues. Sc out paper, leads and paints. Sake my side, guide my fingers in to rise—but his
fall, insinuate, a, like a musiote, stay clear; and , point by point across il t. Very good, er h an able girl. Very good. You learn quickly
raig back Agnes and find ter ao your mistresss gifts as an artist? O o judge.
take up a pencil, go closer to ter. you try?
Once akes at ouc. You dont suppose I mean to insult you? No, sir!
ell, wtle warm, sir. arm, in December—?
And so on. alent for torment, quite as polis, in to groious. I do not. teases, top, revolving faster at taunt her myself.
Agnes, I say, op , feel t. Do you t in your eye! And dont young girls handsome men?
Indeed, miss, I dont know!
Do you say t? t part of . ill you put t, wive you? Do you
t five a red t ss io be so. o put a passion in o punis. Dont you t you feel your passion, you listen for tep?
S. S, against s only say it, or t say it and be bruised, a of e; and I must bruise bruise ing of ——I would surely feel myself.
I never do feel it. Dont imagine I do. Does de Merteuil feel it, for Valmont? I dont to feel it. I se myself, if I did! For I kno, from my uncles books, for too squalid a tcco be satisfied icly, ly, in closets airring in my breast—t dark propinquity—is sometoget say, it rises like a ss tains, already; and so no-one marks it.
No-one, periles. For I t Ricleman o be. I catcimes. I believe so c me and do me , t—and io herself; and nurses her hope of my ruin, smiling, as she onursed her dying child.
tals rap is made, t prime it and ss teet is all plete— Now, says Richard, our work begins.
e must get rid of Agnes.
in a t over so coolly, eady a gaze, I am almost afraid of me.
You kno , he says.
Of course.
And you uand how?
I , until t. Now I see his face.
Its quite tuous girls like t. ill stop up a moutter even tbruss to o run t trouble ails, muco it. Not muc all— ill fair?
Quite fair, sir.
Good. Very good . . . t I suppose lobruso ongue and sucks to a point. Ill do it tonigfully. So o yours. All you must do is, give me fifteen minutes alone me—and not e, if s.
It il t, a sort of game. Dolemen and young ladies, in try and intrigue? No failing, or s. nig look at urn my o your room, tate—perc cco cry out, after all. So keep from going to kno, s, s ion and t t drops, is stifled or soot to of all: not an absence of sound, but teeming—as ter teems, wh kicks and squirming
movements. I imagine back—but e e mout his—
I put my o my oop up my ears. I dont ay closed; take drops, at last, to day, e. I s o s is red and raised and swollen.
Scarlet fever, s meeting my gaze.
tion. Fears, of t! So an attid plates of vinegar burned in only oo make me t. I reag a blow; I only kiss ly, on .
t me in s.
You are soft on me noo y. Id like to see you bruise him, before he bruises you.
tle—but only a little; and o me t I fet s are all off my self, live to anottern—live patterns, books! I will ban paper from my house!
I lie upon my bed and try to imagi I ake, in London. I ot do it. I see only a series of voluptuous rooms— dim rooms, close rooms, rooms- unnerves me. I give it up. time, I am sure of it.
I rise and y, pig to to ted by crooks, I ting off and , ing off a set of vicious faces—Mrs Vixey Doxy, Jenny Diver, Molly Brazen—until he face he seeks . . .
Suky tawdry.
is blue. I begin to dream of he dreams she speaks and I hear her voice. She says my name, and laughs.
I t es to my room ter, from him.
Ses.
I read it, tter to my mout my lips to t be my lover, after all—or, s. For I could not han I could a lover.
But I could not a lover, more t freedom.
I put ter upon t once. I am sure I so me for ing from London, .
t done, I need only , one day a is the day she es.
S Marlo time. But t ao feel rap es back rains are late, t settle. At five oclock I send illiam again—again take supper my h?—My uncle hearing me whisper, however, he sends Charles away.
Do you prefer to talk s, Maud, t us.
tle puniss for me to read from, after teady recitation of cruelty makes me calmer. But ful again; and after Margaret me into my bed, I rise, and and no t t t for t of trap. t. It so gloo so flasion of trap berees, like a te, my my . It dra, t, illiam, a vaguer figure. to to Agness room—Susans room, it and at there; and finally see her.
Sing tables, t and o t her face. She is dressed darkly, and seems small.
But, s is real.—I feel t all at once, and tremble.
It is too late to receive ead I must furt to lie, ep and murmur, my eyes upon ted lies between her chamber and
mine.
Once I rise and go stealto it, and put my ear to t hing.
m I carefully dress me, and ?
Yes, miss.
Do you think she will do?
Do, miss?
As girl to me.
Sosses imes to Frand I dont know w.
ell, be kind to o er London. Siles bring o me, so soon as saken ?
I , sometimes sleeping, sometimes y of see o my uncle, or I fear I last, at seven or so, I read in t leads from ts staircase; and tiless murmur: and? I stand at t? Does s? Does siles es first and, after a moments ation, sao take my life from me and give me freedom.
Sation, es dismay. I s, spotted t. to a point. oo frank, noakes in my googs. training, I suppose—makes a y curtsey. Ssey, I tell. Ss me, more t so Briar to ruin me. I step to take you colour, or tremble, or surns my gaze and ten, about tly steady in mine.
e are ciles. for, to London. S good enoughink.
You need not stay, Mrs Stiles, I say. And turns to go: But you Susan. Youve I am an orpo Briar as a c all
to care for me. I ot tell you all tiles a mot time . . .
I say tormenting of my uncles oo routine an occupation, o is Susan I ; and c us, I drao lead o ts. Souc is as slender as Agness, but at all , but lig; tries to make it ser. Sells me of rain from London— of naming it, of sidering it a place of destination or desire. It is a orment to me t a girl so sligrifling as s Briar; but a solation, also— for if s not I, alents, tter?
So I tell myself, ress, of course, e a fine lady? So look at me!
My voice is not quite steady. But if ttero my tone, s catstead, Ooo kind a lady. And besides, s grand clot tons; but t it i ts.
Saken aken in, by ion—so i, not sly—I sit a moment and regard ake . her fingers move in mine.
Lady Alice always said so, miss, she says.
Did she?
Yes, miss.
to , and brings out a letter. It is folded, sealed, directed in an
affected femie, take it—rise and , far from her gaze.
No names! it says;—but I t frestle
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