''Let me out,'' I say.^本^作^品^由^思^兔^在^線^閱^讀^網^友^整^理^上^傳^
Mrs Sucksby comes to me. She makes to reach, not for the door, but for my face. I push her off—go quickly, to the second door, and then the third.—''Let me out! Let me out!'' She follows.
''Dear girl,'' she says, ''don''t let yourself be upset by that old villain. Why, he ain''t worth your tears!''
''Will you let me out?''
''Let you out, to where? Ain''t everything here, that you need now? Ain''t everything here, or coming? Think of them jewels, them gowns—''
She has come close again. Again, I push her away. I step back to the gravy-coloured wall, and put my hand to it—a fist—and beat and beat it. Then I look up. Before my eyes is the almanack, its pages swarming with crosses of black. I catch hold of it, and pluck it from its pin. ''Dear girl—'' Mrs Sucksby says again. I turn and throw it at her.
But afterwards, I fall weeping; and when the fit of tears has passed, I think I am changed. My spirit has gone. The letter has taken it from me. The almanack goes back upon the wall, and I let it stay there. It grows steadily blacker, as we all inch nearer to our fates. The season advances. June grows warm, then even warmer. The house begins to be filled with flies. They