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Chapter Text

When Mother asked me to come with her to call
On Miss Walker, of course I said yes. She is, after all,
Catherine's best friend, and if a bit off from time to time,
Well, we cannot help how we're made. I knew, of course,
About Miss Lister, what Catherine had murmured
About her before they went off, what my uncles mutter,
What my grandmother seems to revel in. For myself,
I don't know how to put these puzzle pieces together.

If a woman as respectable as Miss Walker considers her
A friend, how can she be someone to worry about?
It makes no sense. And anyway, Mother can be a bit
Shrewish when she has a bee in her bonnet. If Catherine
Likes Ann Walker, and Ann likes Miss Lister, I see
No reason not to offer friendship myself. We arrived
At Lytcliffe, and Ann's man announced us. We could hear
Giggling in the parlor, which seemed odd. We entered,

Only to find Miss Lister already tete-a-tete with Ann,
And Mother seemed petulant and put off, barely wanted
To shake Miss Lister's hand, whereas me, when Miss Lister
Took my hand, it was all I could do to string three words
Together and then remember to let go her hand. Mother,
Annoyed, suggested, pointedly, that since Miss Walker
Already had company, perhaps we should leave?
The Miss Walker Catherine has described would surely

Have found a way to let Miss Lister leave with no ill feelings.
Instead, she said, "If you like." The two of them on one sofa,
Looking open and unconcerned, tested Mother's impatience.
We sat. Mother said complimentary things about Ann, but
Then Miss Lister said something about me, looking like Catherine,
But with fuller lips, and it was clear to me from the way
She looked at me, and stroked a finger over her own lower lip,
That she thought me finer than my sister. Mother disliked

My blushing, I could tell. I've had a few men compliment my looks,
But never like this, never so acutely. Mother distracted her, asked,
Pointedly, about Miss Lister showing up so unexpectedly
In the Lake District, and when she said, "Wild horses couldn't keep me
Away," I believed her. Someday I must find a friend like her,
Who thinks of me, wherever I am, when she has a free afternoon.
Or a man, of course, a suitor. Someone who could smile with mouth
And eyes, and make a girl feel not only seen but appreciated.

Chapter Text

George Playforth was a man, a real man, and actually
Spoke French, if with an unfortunate accent, and the things
He did with his hands were very un-English, suprisingly
French, or surely, I would never have let myself
Take such chances. He was a man for taking the chance.
What kind of nitwit would climb into a tree to scare crows
For the shooting, only to get shot himself? Dull English git.

But oh, his hands. And his mouth, that could recite
Love poetry while doing other things... I had thought,
After his death, when I had realized what he had left
Inside me, that I could make Her understand, but the others
Seemed shocked at the thought, and quickly disabused me
Of such assumptions. I tried gin, but that got me nowhere.
So when, to my horror, Mister 'Ow-do convinced Elizabeth

To translate a marriage proposal, with a handful of weeds
And wild flowers and a soft look, my only choice, as dire
As it seemed to me, was clear. I took the flowers. I kissed
The man's cheek. I steeled myself to face a future together
With a dull Englishman instead of the bright one I'd loved.
As long as my child had a father, I could, like so many other
Women, bear the unbearable for the child I bore.

Chapter Text

The men had been hard at work, both before I raced off south
To Vere's wedding, and after I returned, reenergized to travel
Further north, to meet up with Ann and her friend. Beautiful
Women in beautiful scenic vistas: just what Dr. Belcombe
Might have ordered, if he'd known how low I'd gotten.

And her face when I stepped into the room at the inn,
And Catherine's face, somewhat less enthusiastic. Still.
I made the chance to both cheer Ann and make my gradual
Way toward pulling Catherine into my orbit--so very ladylike,
So very gay. These things take time, and I have learned

To be patient. Patience was never my favorite virtue, and few
Have considered, over the centuries, passion as a virtue.
Well, maybe Horace. As he said, "Cease to inquire
What the future has in store, and take as a gift whatever
The day brings forth." Since the latest wedding, I have clung

To this. Each day brings me gifts. For all the trials God has sent,
Still, there have been gifts as well. So now, as Ann and I
Amble across the Shibden grounds, I am quietly eager. She says,
"If we go to Switzerland and Rome in the spring--" "If?"
"When! But I can't go until February. I have friends coming

To stay and I can't put them off. I mean, I can, and I had rather--"
"But if it is all arranged," I said, "of course you must do as you said."
"When they've gone--" And I could not have asked for a better
Look on her face when she saw the chaumière, shock and delight.
Was it costly? Yes, but her face, her smile, the light that lit her eyes...

I opened to door and let her in, took off coat and hat and moved
To add a bit of wood to the banked fire. She untied her bonnet,
As if in a daze, and perhaps she was. My family might not understand
Why a woman such as myself might want a moss house, but Ann
Clearly felt the thing first. What she thought of it later on, only time

Would tell. She sat on the sofa before the fire, looking I know not what.
She talked first of my appearance at Eskdale, bringing up her mood.
How can I tell her how it also brought up my own? I realized, now
That her cloak was off, that she was still wearing the gondola pin, just
As she did in the Lake District. My heart fluttered, as it had then,

At the sight of it. And then the feeling shifted, as she inched her way
Toward that afternoon in her sitting room, which we had not
Discussed since, I fearful and she-- I could only imagine. So many
Women had inched their way toward me (like Vere) only later
To race away (to marriage to a man). I had hardly dared hope.

"That day," she said, "when you implied... that you wanted to...
Kiss me..." I reminded myself to breathe. This could go two ways,
Very different, very good or bad. She continued, "You were
Embarrassed, but you shouldn't have been. Because it doesn't
Frighten me." I breathed again, softly, so I didn't spook her.

"Really?" I asked, and stood to close the window blinds. I knew
How delicately I would have to go, so instead of her lips, that I
Had been dreaming of, I first kissed her wrist, and when that
Elicited a soft smile and gently eager eyes, only then did I
Allow myself to let our lips meet and warm each other...

Chapter Text

There is always something unexpected going on
These days, but some unexpected things are even
More surprising than others. I'd sooner have thought
That Argus here would come bounding in, declaring
That he was going to marry than John Booth.

He is an able man, and kind, for certain, but nothing
Like George Playforth. I was hard pressed to fathom
How a young woman like Eugenie, who had always
Teased the handsome groom could suddenly find
This stout widower with three daughters appealing.

And certainly, spring's warmth and floral breezes
Have been known to facilitate thoughts of romance.
Even I've felt that myself a time or two, not that it ever--
Certainly not with Her around, Caligula, finding ways
To thwart my prospects. I don't even think she does it

Intentionally. It's more an uncalculated clumsiness,
Like the way Argus simply turns around to lie down
In another position, and knocks the newspaper off
A table, threatens the glassware, all the while
Looking innocent. And she will be livid, I'd imagine,

To find her fancy lady's maid marrying a Booth.
How do they even communicate? She has three words
Of English, and he certainly cannot have any French.
That sticks even as they ask me to be the messenger.
"But John, do you even know any French?" "Er, oui..."

Chapter Text

John Donne said, "Comparisons are odious," and although
I have always agreed, I have not always done well at avoiding
Them. Every woman is different, but the kind of woman
I always find myself warming towards, they are particular
In similar ways, the way flowers share a soft exuberance,
Even though their colors or number of petals differ greatly.

Like Vere, Ann is soft and her scent delightful, not all
Intoxicating like the scent Mariana prefers to wear,
Always speaking boldly even when she says nothing.
But where Vere never let me touch her, not even to kiss
Her shoulder, Ann takes to these small intimacies
With shy enthusiasm. And while her conversation is not

Quite as broad as I might like--though that could easily
Be mended through a course of reading--still she thinks
Deeply about things. Perhaps it is all that time she has spent
Alone with only her thoughts as companions, a faded
Flower just yearning for sunlight and water, though
She has not realized it herself, and certainly her tribe

Of relations seems not to realize how sun might brighten
Her petals. I must be a cautious Apollo. Back at Lightcliffe,
I do not press, but she eagerly asks me to come to dinner
The next day. "And then stay all night?" How is it only she,
Of all of the women, has seen what I offer, what I desire,
And herself desires to share just that with me?

Chapter Text

It's just like her to show up from her travels, after we have

All become used to her prolonged absence, and then

Refuse to accommodate the household now she's back.

It's one thing to skip lunch, but quite another to miss tea,

Send no message and not show up after that either.

One hears tales, as Aunt Anne pointed out, of people

On the road being set on by ruffians or worse. Just because

She thinks she is impenetrable, it doesn't mean she is.

And especially with all the unrest between landlords

And tenants, a single landed lady walking alone at night

Is just asking for trouble. And our poor aunt, worrying

As she does, and insisting I send the servants out to look

For her--

            Then she just comes breezing in from the pitch dark

As if unable to imagine that we, that Aunt Anne, had been

In a host of miseries wondering where she was, imagining

She'd had her throat slit by a madman. She's impossible.

She's ridiculous. She's so selfish. She's the only sister I've got.

Chapter Text

She was always a handful. From the time she learned
To walk, she was racing around, first on her own and then
With Sam, whenever he could catch up. Always so clever,
Voraciously reading the Grecian histories I'd send her
When she was away at school. And then, of course, that
Unpleasantness at the school. I think even then I knew
What that had been about, with her young friend,
But I convinced myself I didn't know. That's how it is,
Often, when you love someone close to you, especially
Someone in so very many ways so different from you.

She always writes when she travels, long letters
In her small fine hand, about all the fascinating people
She meets, especially the ladies, both those who show
Her hospitality and those who serve as companions.
I read them with the magnifying glass, or Marian
Reads them to me. Poor Marian, always in Anne's shade,
Both admiring and resenting her fearlessness. Take
Tonight, when we had not heard from Anne for hours.
Naturally I fear the worst and it gives me stomach pains.
Marian turns her fears outward, takes them out on

The servants and then Anne when she finally turns up.
If Anne seems immune it's because her own fears are
Different: she does not want to become Marian or me:
Both of us in our different times of life mostly alone.
And now this newest young lady, shy Miss Walker
With her pretty blue eyes and two thousand pounds.
It would be a prudent match if Anne were a man.
"Nature played a trick on me," she says, "putting this
Bold spirit into this vessel. But I'll not be cowed by it!"
I'd give much to see her well settled before I pass.

Chapter Text

Between my daughters, I don't know which one's worse:
Marian yelling for all to hear that she will marry
And bear a son to spite her sister and lay a better claim
To Shibden, or Anne pointedly mocking her for it?
I love them both, of course, but they don't make it easy.

Marian is a dutiful daughter, no one's denying that.
She keeps good hours, respectable friends, reads
The news to us now that our eyes are weak. And Anne
Is better now than she used to be, like that time
I caught her at a lodging house down in Halifax

At three in the morning playing cards with a bunch
Of reprobates from the 33rd. In comparison, going
For walks with Miss Walker and taking a late tea there
Are hardly high crimes, regardless of what Marian thinks
Or says. I've learned to simply take them both as they are.

Chapter Text

The hours I spend with Anne in the moss house
Are the best in my week. We talk about everything
And she is so clever and well read, and she makes me
Laugh (and sometimes blush) and I always feel,
Perhaps for the first time, what it means to hold
Someone in your heart. Sometimes I lean against
Her arm as we contemplate the small cheerful fire
In the grate. Sometimes she kisses me lightly
And I feel such warmth. Today she is apologetic,

With her sister angered into a short trip, and with
Her aunt in bad health, she can't leave her aunt alone
With just the servants overnight. Bad timing.
So just dinner, and stay a little while... Then I recall
The letter and we return to Lightcliffe. I show her
The anonymous letter, watch a quick spasm pass
Over her face. She recovers immediately, but
I know what I saw. She says it was written
By someone who knows nothing about her.

Yes, the way Catherine had also passed on
Gossip without thinking to seek the truth herself.
She calls it poisonous and cowardly, but her voice is
Steady. I tell her, "I know it wasn't meant for your eyes,
But I wanted you to see it. I wanted you to know
That I don't care what anyone says about you."
She smiles, checks the window, kisses me her thanks.
She takes the letter, goes. I would have burnt it for her,
But, if it were me, I would want to do that myself.

Chapter Text

1. Sam

Time was a man'd do a job, pull his weight,
And no one'd ask him if he'd had a drop.
Time was a man worked for a man, not
For a fella in a frock. She's no cock,
All talk. She don't want me working for her,
Then I'm taking my cart home with me.
And if my sow of a wife and my cunt of a son
Gang up against me, I'll kill them all and
Be done with it. They don't know, any
Of them, what a man can be pushed to.

2. Thomas

Ever since I was Amy's age, they've been like this:
She takes a half-step wrong. He rages against her,
Uses it as a reason for going down the pub, and then
Coming back soused. At least back then it was only
Evening and night. Now when Miss Lister smells it
On him and don't want him working for her in that
State, it's up to me to cart him home, subdue him
When he fights us, protect our Mum and Alfie. I am
Tired of being tarred by the same brush. He don't
Know, at all, what a man can be pushed to.

Chapter Text

With Hemingway packing, I change and am on my way
Out the door in under an hour. I pause to reassure Aunt
Anne that I can be back at a moment's notice. She asks
If I was serious about marrying and I tell her about
The Kenny family teas with Mr. Abbott, who has grown,
Apparently, quite fond of me. Meanwhile, I tell her of
The Booth/Eugenie wedding and beg her tell Caligula
For me. If I'm the messenger, Anne will shoot without
A thought, but not Aunt Anne. I tell her not to tell
Caligula about Mr. Abbott. Things are too early yet.
And I apologize for falling out with Anne, who is simply
So-- She makes me cross! A rest with friends will cool me.

Chapter Text

As an important dog about town, with his own horse-drawn
Carriage that he shares with Tall Boots, Welly knows his
Place. He's there to protect and serve, to sniff and remember.

This is a different place, but it smells quite nice, almost like
The bank, though no one has a bone for him to chew, quietly
In the corner. But there is a chair for him to sit on as he

Watches the negotiation curiously. What he sees is Tall Boots
And his nervous brother growling at the sitting man, who is
Clearly indifferent to their marks they've made on his tree.

Chapter Text

Of course I love her, but at times it is very difficult.
They both make it difficult, confiding in me things
I probably have to know but they don't want said.
So I get around it, by mentioning something in passing,
Or accidentally, or in parts they later put together.

There is at least one advantage to reaching
Such an age as I have. Despite the ailments and
The inconvience they pose to myself and others,
No matter what I do or say, they assume I love them
Best, and that I am always ever on their side.

Chapter Text

In how much is she the very opposite of Vere?

In Hastings, among the gulls, some moments

Vere would seem to know exactly the sort

Of thing I was suggesting, living together, but

The next moment she wasn't up to seeing me,

Or she had invited Donald to tea, or she just

Seemed as though we had never had any of those

So cautious conversations. But with Ann, although

Still cautious, over the weeks, I moved swiftly

From pocket holes to talk of kissing, to kissing,

To her invitation to dinner <and other things

I had not dreamed she would suggest--at all?

So soon? things that make it hard for me

To think of her without incurring a cross>.

At dinner, I spoke lightly of my highland

Adventures, being the ever-entertaining

Guest I am known to be. She'd dressed

With even more than her usual care, her hair

In complicated golden ringlets. It suits her.

So I know that she does take me seriously,

But still, when I nervously broached the subject

Of living as companions, she immediately

Said, "Like a marriage." Not showing

My surprise, I said, "Yes, or even better."

I think she's taking the impossibility

Of children hard, but I also see that she is

Thinking prudently, speaking confidently

As she puts me off six months to consider

Very seriously a decision that would, either

Way, affect the outcome of the rest of our lives.

Chapter Text

What an astonishing number of weeks it has been
Since Anne came into my life. What an astonishing
Few days. I feel like the world I had lived in always
Had always been painted in faded colors, but now

She brings a vibrancy I could never have imagined,
Just as she did that day when I met her years ago.
It is a gift she has, all that energy, all that strong
Feeling, that strong mind, her strong hands.

And when she asked me, well, about the future,
It sounded exciting at first, except for the problem
Of children, but I also though that given the serious
Nature of a lifelong relationship, should I not

Treat it with the sort of seriousness she has shown
When helping me with my financial affairs?
I was afraid my saying wait would disappoint
Her, but she simply smiled and complimented

My prudence. But then later, after we had drunk
Our tea, and she was pressed close to me,
Making her case again between hot kisses, and
Ruffling among my petticoats, well it was all

Just too much. Too soon. And I know I had
Invited her for all night, but I also think that
After she had put me off for a few days until
The dust settled with her family, I just felt

I trifle relieved that I had more time to think
About what it would mean, being so close to her,
Rather feeling what I hoped it would feel like.
So, though I feared disappointing her, when

My thighs clenched together, I pulled back.
Never having done, not wanting to disappoint,
Feeling too close to the edge, when the bell
Rang for John, I breathed a shaky sigh of relief.

Chapter Text

After a day of mucking out the horses, laying hay,
And doing the other odd jobs, by nine-thirty
At night, I'm ready for a little tea and my bed,
Not for a walking race with Herself in the pitch dark.

But it's easier to talk about difficult things in darkness,
So I asked her if anyone had talked to her about me
And Eugenie. She'd heard I was getting married,
But not to who-- Well, it took her a moment to get

There, and her disbelief at the idea went a far cry
Past that of my daughters. She kept shifting, opening
And closing her mouth. As she said, it's not often
She's speechless. And then I had to admit to her

About my mistake looking for her at the Priestlys.
I'm going to be three rungs down from Argus
At Shibden hall for the next week or month at least...

Chapter Text

We watch her storm off, as always, self-righteous.
Well, Marian should get married. Do her good.

Give her something to think about other than James's
Inheritance, or Anne's companions. You know

Marian's still not made her peace with that either.
It's just one more way Anne's disappointed her

Since going away for school. And if she married
A tradesmen, what of that? If he has enough money,

And he cares about her... The world is moving
Forward, even if she isn't, even as she storms off.

Chapter Text

I'd long since made my peace, such as it is, with marriage
Being a man and a woman sitting at opposite ends
Of a laden table, while the woman interrupts the man
At his trying to read The Leeds Intelligencer, or his
Letters, or anything really. We live a comfortable life,
And she makes most calls without me, and at least
She leaves me alone when I am learning a new chorale.

This morning, though, I can clearly see what's coming.
The Mrs. is worried for Ann, given what John Booth
Said, about Miss Lister spending several evenings
There in a row. "Do you think she's ill?" she asks me.
"It's... one possibility." I can think of several, given
What people have always said about what Anne got
Up to in foreign parts. Eliza has always been blind,

When it comes to Anne, judging her odd, but blinkered
To possible reasons. She likes her cleverness without
Thinking where curiosity may lead, likes her conversation
Without thinking how various must have been her
Interlocutors who taught her. Well, I'd hardly call myself
A worldly man, but when Eliza takes says she wouldn't
Want to be a busybody, a husband would do well to duck.

Chapter Text

Half the role of a foreman on a job like this one is
Removing obstacles and smoothing edgy surfaces.
Before Herself returned from abroad, I had kept
Sam Sowden under control. He was and is a right
Sumbitch, but until she came back and started
Throwing her weight around, I could keep Sam
Sober and working until at least three or half three.
A man like that don't take directions from women,
Even if they are monied, landed ladies like Herself.

Maybe especially if they are. But it's gotten worse
On a sudden, since Rent Day, if I had to guess.
John Mallinson said he'd argued with her and her
"Daft old dad" and then paid his rent and spent
The rest of his money drinking like a thirsty dog,
Till John had to toss him out. Some men go that way.
How often has young Thomas got bruised up?
And how was it Mrs. Sowden suddenly needed
A cane at the age of forty? He's a bad'un,

But he has a cart, and this job needed a cart, as I
Attempt to explain to Herself, when she hears
His wet fart, smells the gin all over him as he
Mouths off, calls her a fella in a frock, asks her
To show her cock and I would have hauled back
And cracked his jaw myself, but he was up
In the cart, and she was fast and calm, telling
Thomas and Alfie to take him home. Odds are,
Sowdens will lose their tenancy all too son.

Chapter Text

After all the little things people had said about her,
Including Aunt Anne saying the girl wasn't "the full
Shilling," I suppose I should have expected eventually
To see an example of her nerves. Yes, as Aunt Anne
Says, Halifax people talk and they can be cruel.
I suppose I just ignore it all on principle because
So often the gossip is about me, and yes, often cruel,
But I know there is always at least a kernel of truth.

And if I'd marched into that sunny room to find her
Crying gently on the sofa, I don't think it would have
Struck me in that moment how much I might not yet
Know about her, how much more there might be
Buried beneath her fragile surface. But no, instead
I found her sitting on the floor, leaning against
The wall, a red-nosed misery of lavender crinoline.
I closed the door, asking what happened. She thought
I wouldn't come back, after the night before. Honestly.
"You'll find me a lot more constant than that," I said,
Taking her hands. She thought she didn't deserve me,
Wasn't good enough, clever enough, interesting,
And I'd soon get fed up with her. Suddenly, she was
Back, the slightly dithering girl unable to stand up
To her relations. But I had seen her different, bold,
Willing to not only appreciate intimacy, but understand
What it meant, which cleverer and better traveled
Ladies never had. I said she had too poor an opinion
Of herself, that she was indeed clever, interesting.
She sniffled, "Do you still want us to live together?"
I squeezed her knees. "Need you ask?" But then
It became clearer. She thought she'd never see me
Again "because of last night, because I couldn't give
You what you wanted." As if I were a man!

I bent my head, then came round to sit next to her,
Still holding her hands and trying to look all my love
At her. I'd forgotten just how young she is, how new
To love, affection, intimacies. I said gently, "These things
Take time. We can take all the time you need."

Chapter Text

I left the cart there. It were easy
To get Pickle's permission to slip off
To remind Father to go up the Hall
To meet with herself. How he would
Forget if I didn't remind him.

I left the cart there and it meant the walk
Home gave me more time to think on it.
How he wasn't going hat-in-hand to Her
However much that was called for. No.
He'd insult her, maybe assault her,

A lady and our landlord, and generally fair,
I'd always thought. But he only saw her
As a woman, who by right should kneel to men,
Even to a bugger like him. So I walked
Fast and thought fast, and my thoughts

Were dark. How to get Mum and the little ones
Out of the way if he lashed out. How to be quick
Not for his sake. How to hope the one thing I'd
Ever learned from him was true. It had to be true.
The three set off, down the road. Could I

Do what I needed to, for them?
And I know I was telling myself
Even as I picked up the sharpest
Of the knives and went out to him,
To tell him to say the right thing,

That I'd never intended
That I wanted him to shit
Himself when he knew
What I was about to do
When I paid him

Back
In a moment
For his cruelties.

Chapter Text

Despite what William sometimes says, jestingly,
To our friends and relations, I'm not a busybody,
Really. I'm curious about the world, and people,
And if that means I decline to ring the front bell
For a formal call, well, she is family, William's
Cousin, and it's only right that I show concern.

And despite what Mrs. Stansfield Rawson has,
On occasion, whispered to her callers, I haven't
A busybody bone in my body. I know what I've
Heard about folk, but I like to know things
For myself, see with my own eyes, in general,
That people are wrong, far off the mark.

And so, despite the teachings of social
Courtesies, I deigned to hurry to the back
Where the servants were beating rugs and
All the other messy duties such a large estate
Requires. I got James to let me in at the back.
He said she was not ill, merely speaking

With Miss Lister. "Well," thought I to myself,
"That should be a pretty conversation. I should
Pat myself on the back for having encouraged
Anne to become Miss Walker's friend." And yet...
When we reached the parlor door and heard
Giggling--there was no other word for it--

I told James not to knock. I took hold of the knob,
Turned it, pushed the door open. They stood,
Rumpled and flushed in the center of the room.
It reminded me of nothing more than the last
Tete-à-tete I had with William before he proposed.
So I recognized the worried flush on Anne's face.

"What are you doing?" I asked. Anne said, "Nothing!"
Which sounded like something, if you ask me.
Miss Walker said she'd been feeling poorly, and
Anne had been seeing to her. "Oh, is THAT
What you call it?" said I. "You're playing with fire!"
Hand me another teacake, dear. I'm famished.

Chapter Text

<This girl never does what I expect,

I ask her to be my companion, and

She instantly understands me, unlike

Others who would not, could not.

I try to get close to her queer, after

All she had earlier asked me to stay

All night, but she's smitten with anxiety

And I leave, hot and disappointed.

I find her despairing of me on the floor,

Not the full shilling indeed, but then

Just my vows of constancy and kissing

Away her tears seem also to kiss away

Her anxieties and inhibitions. Then,

As I'm thinking we might achieve

A tolerably good kiss on the sofa

From her whimpers, then the door

Opens and we jump up, flushed

And not a bit the confident person

I always am. Mrs. P: I should have

Known. Kind in her own way but

An interfering busybody with many

Ears turned her way. Shock, disgust,

Disbelief, jealousy, I couldn't tell

The torrent of feelings on her face.

I could not speak. Ann had to make

The lies and excuses, not that Mrs. P

Believed a word. I contemplated,

Very briefly, my painful future,

But Ann just threw her head back

And laughed, heartily, then said,

"Shall we go upstairs?" Ann being

Bolder than I'd given credit for

We hurried up the stairs and

I fought my way up through

The petticoats again and

With a little effort and

Her groaning, I gave

Her a tolerably

Good kiss-->