A Turn of the Screw

           "Now,what,"saysMr.George,"maythisbe?Isitblankcartridgeorball?Aflashinthepanorashot?"Anopenletteristhesubjectofthetrooper’sspeculations,anditseemstoperplexhimmightily.Helooksatitatarm’slength,bringsitclosetohim,holdsitinhisrighthand,holdsitinhislefthand,readsitwithhisheadonthisside,withhisheadonthatside,contractshiseyebrows,elevatesthem,stillcannotsatisfyhimself.Hesmoothsitoutuponthetablewithhisheavypalm,andthoughtfullywalkingupanddownthegallery,makesahaltbeforeiteverynowandthentocomeuponitwithafresheye.Eventhatwon’tdo."Isit,"Mr.Georgestillmuses,"blankcartridgeorball?"PhilSquod,withtheaidofabrushandpaint-pot,isemployedinthedistancewhiteningthetargets,softlywhistlinginquick-marchtimeandindrum-and-fifemannerthathemustandwillgobackagaintothegirlheleftbehindhim."Phil!"Thetrooperbeckonsashecallshim.Philapproachesinhisusualway,sidlingoffatfirstasifheweregoinganywhereelseandthenbearingdownuponhiscommanderlikeabayonet-charge.Certainsplashesofwhiteshowinhighreliefuponhisdirtyface,andhescrapeshisoneeyebrowwiththehandleofthebrush."Attention,Phil!Listentothis.""Steady,commander,steady.""’Sir.Allowmetoremindyou(thoughthereisnolegalnecessityformydoingso,asyouareaware)thatthebillattwomonths’datedrawnonyourselfbyMr.

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