At Miss Winter』s house I never looked at the clock. For seds I had words, minutes were lines of pencil script. Eleven words to the liwenty-three lio the page was my new etry. At regular intervals I stopped to turn the handle of the pencil sharpener and watch curls of lead-edged wood daheir way to the aper basket; these pauses marked my 「hours.」
I was so preoccupied by the story I was hearing, writing, that I had no wish for anything else. My own life, such as it was, had dwio nothing. My daytime thoughts and my nighttime dreams were peopled by figures not from my world but from Miss Winter』s. It was Hester and Emmeline, Isabelle and Charlie, who wahrough my imagination, and the place to which my thoughts turned stantly was Angelfield.
In truth I was not unwilling to abdicate my own life. Plunging deep into Miss Winter』s story was a way of turning my bay ow one ot simply snuff oneself out in that fashion. For all my willed blindness, I could not escape the knowledge that it was December. In the bay mind, on the edge of my sleep, in the margins of the pages I filled so freically with script, I was aware that December was ting down the days, and I felt the anniversary crawling closer all the time.
On the day after the night of the tears, I did not see Miss Winter. She stayed in bed, seeing only Judith and Dr. Clifton. This was ve. I had not slept well myself. But the following day she asked for me. I went to her plain little room and found her in bed.
Her eyes seemed to have grown larger in her face. She wore not a traakeup. Perhaps her medication was at its peak of effectiveness, for there was a tranquility about her that seemed new. She did not smile at me, but when she looked up as I ehere was kindness in her eyes.
『You don』t need your notebook and pencil,「 she said. 」I want you to do something else for me today.「
『What?「
Judith came in. She spread a sheet on the floor, then brought Miss Winter』s chair in from the adjoining room and lifted her into it. In the ter of the sheet she positiohe chair, angling it so that Miss Winter could see out of the window. Theucked a towel around Miss Winter』s shoulders and spread her mass e hair over it.
Before she left she handed me a pair of scissors. 「Good luck,」 she said with a smile.
『But what am I supposed to do?「 I asked Miss Winter.
『Cut my hair, of course.「
『Cut your hair?「
『Yes. Don』t look like that. There』s nothing to it.「
『But I don』t know how.「
『Just take the scissors and cut.「 She sighed. 」I don』t care how you do it. I don』t care what it looks like. Just get rid of it.「
『But I—「
「Please.」
Relutly I took up position behind her. After two days in bed, her hair was a tangle e, wiry threads. It was dry to the touch, so dry I almost expected it to crackle, and punctuated with gritty little knots.
『I』d better brush it first.「
The knots were numerous. Though she spoke not a word of reproach, I felt her flinch at every brushstroke. I put the brush down; it would be kio simply cut the knots out.
Tentatively I made the first cut. A few inches off the ends, halfway down her back. The blades sheared ly through the hair, and the clippings fell to the sheet.
『Shorter than that,「 Miss Winter said mildly.
『To here?「 I touched her shoulders.
『Shorter.「
I took a lock of hair and s it nervously. An e snake slithered to my feet, and Miss Winter began to speak.