Ay, ser’s green gazes, needles me ao bed?    o t    o Emmeline? More t it is raug torments my sce s slo out of sleep.

        k is. Juditir and o my lips. I drink. Before I    speak, sleep overwhelms me again.

        time I er    my bedside, book in    cus ufts of pale y co throne for a joke.

        ed her head from her reading.

        ‘Dr. Clifton emperature.“

        I said nothing.

        ‘e didn’t kno    on. ”e couldn’t find a card. e don’t go in muc we broughe garden.“

        In t y purple flo, heady fragrance.

        ‘ hday?“

        ‘You told us. o tell me your story, Margaret?“

        ‘Me? I    got a story,“ I said.

        ‘Of course you ory.“

        ‘Not me.“ I sinct echoes of words I may have spoken in my sleep.

        Miss inter placed t he book.

        ‘Everybody ory. It’s like families. You mig kno t all t drift apart or you migurn your ba t you ’t say you    got tories. So,“ sory. o tell me yours?“

        ‘I’m not.“

        S o one side and ed for me to go on.

        ‘I’ve old anyone my story. If I’ve got o is. And I ’t see any reason to ge now.“

        ‘I see,“ sly, nodding ’s your business, of course.“ Surned ared into    liberty to say not is . But silence is not a natural enviro for stories. t t you.“ o me. ”Believe me, Margaret. I know.“

        For long stretcime I slept, and ake tray a at seeing my leavings, yet sio. I    ed by t nig pursued me into sleep.

        ‘?“

        :    Miss Emmeliing on in years.

        ao spell it out told me everyted to kno    .

        As for Aurelius, te. As soon as I ter. Not satisfied, I attempted anoty reed versions t I despaired at myself, I selected o random and made a    copy:

        Dear Aurelius,Are you all right?

        I’m so sorry about o    anyone. I    I?

        hen    I see you?

        Are ill friends?

        MargaretIt would o do.

        Dr. Clifton came. eo my    and asked me lots of questions. “Insomnia? Irregular sleep? Nightmares?”

        I imes.

        ‘I t so.“

        ook a ter and instructed me to place it under my torode to to me,    do you read?”

        iter in my mout reply.

        “uts—you’ve read t?”

        ‘Mm-hmm.“

        ‘And Jane Eyre?“

        ‘Mm.“

        “Sense and Sensibility?”

        ‘hm-m.“

        urned and looked gravely at me. “And I suppose you’ve read than once?”

        I nodded and he frowned.

        ‘Read and reread? Many times?“

        Once more I nodded, and his frown deepened.

        ‘Since childhood?“

        I    pelled by ty of his gaze, nodded once again.

        Beo slits. I could quite see    frigients into getting    to be rid of him.

        And to me to read ter.

        People look different from close up. A dark broill a dark bro you    see t,    ferayed off in tion of emple, poio t    almost imperceptible flaring of trils, t tc taken it for severity, a clue t    little of me; but no from so feo me t it mig be disapproval after all. as it possible, I t, t Dr. Clifton ly laug me?

        er from my mout t afflicts ladies of romantic imagination. Symptoms include fainting, ite, los. o    in freezing rain    t of adequate erproofing, to be found in some emotional trauma. e novels, your stitution    been ions of life in earlier, uries. No tuberculosis, no s. You’ll survive.”

        raigo slide my gaze a enough.”

        ‘I ite.“

        “L’appetit vient en ma.”

        ‘Appetite es by eating,“ I translated.

        ‘Exactly. Your appetite    you must meet it     it to e.“

        It urn to frown.

        ‘treatment is not plicated: eat, rest and take tes on a pad, tore out a page and placed it on my bedside table—”and tigue ed. ”I’d like to ask you about t I suspect you    like to tell me…“

        Stonily I regarded .”

        not.”

        From ted me and was gone.

        I rea. In a vigorous s pages, till end of course.
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