From my own room. The wind wuthered so I couldn t go to sleep and I
heard someone crying and wanted to find out who it was. What were you
crying for?
Because I couldn t go to sleep either and my head ached. Tell me your
name again.
Mary Lennox. Did no one ever tell you I had come to live here?
He was still fingering the fold of her wrapper, but he began to look a
little more as if he believed in her reality.
No, he answered. They daren t.
Why? asked Mary.
Because I should have been afraid you would see me. I won t let people
see me and talk me over.
Why? Mary asked again, feeling more mystified every moment.
Because I am like this always, ill and having to lie down. My father
won t let people talk me over either. The servants are not allowed to
speak about me. If I live I may be a hunchback, but I shan t live. My
father hates to think I may be like him.
Oh, what a queer house this is! Mary said. What a queer house!
Everything is a kind of secret. Rooms are locked up and gardens are
locked up and you! Have you been locked up?
No. I stay in this room because I don t want to be moved out of it. It
tires me too much.
Does your father come and see you? Mary ventured.
Sometimes. Generally when I am asleep. He doesn t want to see me.
Why? Mary could not help asking again.
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