181 < 22 > MICHELLE’S STORY The week at school was mostly uneventful save Michelle’s enthusiasm and constant ploys for attention. It was still too dark for reading, but she could see well enough to note the number of the last page—fifty-six. She got up and unlocked the door. Charcoal, you may bring in the boy. “Just the box only. Her face reminded him of a delicate unglazed porcelain cup, filled with blond wine. Anyone would be intrigued. She could now see to read; so she stirred the manuscript about until she came upon the first page. Nor did he content himself with declaring his guiltlessness of the crime imputed to him, but began in his turn to menace his captor and accuser, loading the latter with the bitterest upbraidings.
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