Her voice catches, but does not break. She waits and, when I do nothing, ''Stand up, sweetheart,'' she says.
I do. She takes the gown from me, and the stays. She does not ask what has become of my petticoats. She does not exclaim over my slippers and feet—though she shudders, as she draws off my stockings. She puts me, naked, into the bed; draws up the blanket to my jaw; then sits beside me. She strokes my hair—teases out the pins and tangles with her hands. My head is loose, and jerks as she tugs. ''There, now,'' she says.
The house is silent. I think Mr Ibbs and John are talking, but
talking in whispers. Her fingers move more slowly. ''There, now,'' she ays again; and I shiver, for her voice is Sue''s.
Her voice is Sue''s, but her face— The room is dark, however, she has not brought a candle. She sits with her back to the window. But I feel her gaze, and her breath. I close my eyes.
''We thought you lost,'' she murmurs again. ''But you came back. Dear girl, I knew you should!''▼本▼作▼品▼由▼思▼兔▼在▼線▼閱▼讀▼網▼友▼整▼理▼上▼傳▼
''I have nowhere else,'' I answer, slowly and hopelessly. ''I have nowhere and no-one. I thought I knew it; I never knew it till now. I have nothing. No home—''
''Here is your home!'' she says.
''No friends—''
''Here are your friends!''
''No love—''
She draws in her bre