ime, I    to Emmeline’s quarters. It    time I ed guest, and t ticed, before I eveered t noticed me yet—and realized it y, t plosives t    you migake for time I t it opped a ion brus my ear like a moting on my tered away again.

        I cleared my t.

        ‘Margaret.“ Miss inter, ioned estured to a che bed. ”how good of you.“

        I looked at Emmeline’s fa te e of scarring and burn damage t I    none of ill tangled skein of lessly    to my presence. . Some alteration aken pla antly visible to too elusive to define. S ended outside t and in it ser’s hand in a firm grip.

        ‘how are you, Emmeline?“ I asked nervously.

        ‘S er.

        Miss ioo,    days. But in illation: t reduced    exposed ime I sa, and teel at er was revealed.

        All t    Emmeline c.

        ‘ould you like me to read?“ I asked.

        ‘By all means.“

        I read a cer. ter murmured. Emmeline’s eyes o it. the beginnings of bruises on her fingers.

        Seeing tion of my gaze, so    terruption to our    spend my time    must . But it    be long nomas ing. You ing to leave us and be er tand. I expect… ”—it    of pauses—“hen.”

        I did not immediately uand     ao Emmeline’s sleeping face.

        ‘Do you mean… ?“

        Miss inter sig be taken in by t t srong. Sime. For years I assumed t I o see    before me. t so sure. And no seems o the finish line.”

        So t’s ing for. t     end.

        Suddenly my t ened as a child’s.

        Dying. Emmeline was dying.

        ‘Is it my fault?“

        ‘Your fault?    be your fault?“ Miss inter s nigo do .“

        S uood more t to reveal. “ you, Margaret? My sister is a strao you. And it is    distresses you so, is it? tell me, Margaret, ter?”

        In part s Miss io join me in tees. Bereaved to it t. ten s-tempered and trary, I o like Miss inter. In particular I liked tly noones, so gro er, and ter’s sorro my o        aken plae in the days before I could remember.

        I c already separated me from my sister. Soon s and be lost to us, a o rusted to one o say?

        I felt Miss inter’s curious gaze upon my face. I restrained my folly.

        ‘how long?“ I asked.

        ‘Days. A week, per long.“

        I sat up late t niger. I    t day, too. e sat, reading aloud or in silence for long periods, on ing to interrupt il. o take my preseural toer as ly about Emmeline’s dee. And sometimes t ening    and finisenetimes. uts ran into Emma, ace Diamonds, e. Fragments. It didn’t matter. Art, its pleteness, its formedness, its finiso sole. ords, on t ter to t of Emmeline’s breathing.

        tomorroure. In a     to leave. tariness offered by its garden, ed of t present. tant still. As for Cmas… In our ive season follooo close upon my birto be able to bear tion of tter    of my fatmas cards from my parents’ feas, snoting aside t sed a secret pile of ture at e, perfefant; t gazing back at    in tras of them.

        Miss inter, I kne object if I asked to stay. S even be glad to    I did not ask. I could not. I    igold me t t far off. It     unity to escape, and I took it.

        In t to my room and did my pag, t baeline’s quarters to say good-bye to Miss inter. All ters’ iller ter    if so read no longer; instead, cer’s face. In ly h. her eyes were closed and she looked deeply asleep.

        ‘Margaret,“ Miss inter murmured, indig a c I ogeted for t to fade, listening to tide of Emmeline’s breath.

        Bet, in a smooturbable rhe sound of waves on a seashore.

        Miss inter did not speak, and I, too, , posing in my mind impossible messages I migo my sister via t traveler to t otion, th a deeper and more enduring sorrow.

        Against tte, Miss iirred.

        ‘You s in told me s to me across the bed.

        My fingers closed on a regular leat al lock. Some sort of book.

        ‘From Emmelireasure box. It    be needed anymo a. alk.“

        Book in o ture in my patide of Emmeline’s breat.
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