All right, Mrs Sucksby?''—It is Mr Ibbs. My voice has risen, and has brought him out of the kitchen to the foot of the stairs. Richard, too, has stirred in his bed: I hear him cross his floor, draw open his door, and listen.
All right!'' calls Mrs Sucksby lightly. ''There, now,'' she says to me. And here''s your breakfast, look, growing chilly.''〓本〓作〓品〓由〓思〓兔〓網〓提〓供〓線〓上〓閱〓讀〓
She sets the tray upon the bed. The door is open; but I know that Mr Ibbs still stands at the foot of the stairs, that Richard waits and listens at the top. ''There, now,'' she says again. The tray has a plate and a fork upon it, and a linen napkin. Upon the plate there are two or three amber-coloured fish in a juice of butter and water. They have fins, and faces. About the napkin there is a ring of polished silver, a little like the one that was kept for my especial use at Briar; but without the initial.
''Please let me go,'' I say.
Mrs Sucksby shakes her head. ''Dear girl,'' she says, ''go where?''
She waits and, when I do not answer, leaves me. Richard closes his door and goes back to his bed. I hear him humming.
I think of taking up the plate, hurling it against the ceiling, the window, the wall. Then I think: You must be strong. You must be strong and ready to