movements. I imagine her shuddering, weeping, her clothes put back—but her freckled arms closing, despite herself, about his plunging back, her white mouth seeking out his—○思○兔○在○線○閱○讀○
I put my hands to my own mouth; and feel the dry chafe of my gloves. Then I stop up my ears. I don''t hear it when he leaves her. I don''t know what she does when he is gone. I let the door stay closed; take drops, at last, to help me sleep; and then, next day, wake late. I hear her calling, weakly, from her bed. She says she is ill. She parts her lips, to show me the lining of her mouth. It is red and raised and swollen.
''Scarlet fever,'' she whispers, not meeting my gaze.
There are fears, then, of infection. Fears, of that! She is moved to an attic, and plates of vinegar burned in her room—the smell makes me sick. I see her again, but only once, the day she comes to make me her good-bye. She seems thin, and dark about the eye; and her hair is cut. I reach for her hand, and she flinches, perhaps expecting a blow; I only kiss her, lightly, on her wrist.
Then she looks at me in sc