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The Turn of the Screw

           Iwasmuchtherethatyearitwasabeautifulone;andwehad,inheroff-hours,somestrollsandtalksinthegardentalksinwhichshestruckmeasawfullycleverandnice.Ohyes;don’tgrin:Ilikedherextremelyandamgladtothisdaytothinkshelikedme,too.Ifshehadn’tshewouldn’thavetoldme.Shehadnevertoldanyone.Itwasn’tsimplythatshesaidso,butthatIknewshehadn’t.Iwassure;Icouldsee.You’lleasilyjudgewhywhenyouhear.”

           “Becausethethinghadbeensuchascare?”

           Hecontinuedtofixme.“You’lleasilyjudge,”herepeated:“youwill.”

           Ifixedhim,too.“Isee.Shewasinlove.”

           Helaughedforthefirsttime.“Youareacute.Yes,shewasinlove.Thatis,shehadbeen.Thatcameoutshecouldn’ttellherstorywithoutitscomingout.Isawit,andshesawIsawit;butneitherofusspokeofit.Irememberthetimeandtheplacethecornerofthelawn,theshadeofthegreatbeechesandthelong,hotsummerafternoon.Itwasn’tasceneforashudder;butoh!”Hequittedthefireanddroppedbackintohischair.

           “You’llreceivethepacketThursdaymorning?”Iinquired.

           “Probablynottillthesecondpost.”

           “Wellthen;afterdinner

           “You’llallmeetmehere?”Helookedusroundagain.“Isn’tanybodygoing?”Itwasalmostthetoneofhope.

           “Everybodywillstay!”

           “Iwill”and“Iwill!”criedtheladieswhosedeparturehadbeenfixed.Mrs.Griffin,however,expressedtheneedforalittlemorelight.

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