“Sunshine streamed into the attic, revealing an entire floor filled with baggage, from useless antiquities taking up space to precious treasures, like the old six-legged rocking chair I'd placed by the window yesterday to sit in while searching through boxes.The Swedish-made chair had been my mother's favorite, and my father had stored it up here after her death. Perhaps it was time to bring it back downstairs and let other memories fill the worn seat.I still had not heard from Mr. Goodson—no re...sponding telegraph to my demand on Monday for more information about the danger I might be in, no letters in the post. Short of making a trip to Baton Rouge, there was little that I could do. At this point, I thought it prudent to stay close to home and keep a wary eye on my boarders.Four days had passed, and I felt as if I was still against the door in Mr. Trevelyan's room with him leaning toward me, despite my careful maneuvering to avoid any intimate conversations or situations with him. I kept trying to act as if he was a stranger, and he wasn't cooperating.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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