Proposal Identify your primary text. Explain what interests you about the text. What is your potential topic? What are your initial ideas about this

thanasia. In 1993, Gilman was namedin a poll commissioned bythe Siena Research Institute as the sixth mostinfluential woman_of the twentieth cen- tury. In 1994, she was inducted posthumously into the National Women’s Hall of Fame in Seneca Falls, New York.

Denise D. KNIGHTis professor of English at the State University of New York at Cortland, where she'specializes in nineteenth-century American Literature. She is author ‘of Charlotte Perkins Gilman: A Study of the Short Fiction and editor of The Later Poetry of Charlotte Perkins Gilman, The Diaries of Charlotte Perkins Gilman, The Abridged Diaries of Char- lotte Perkins Gilman, “The Yellow Wall-Paper” dnd Selected Stories of Charlotte Perkins Gilman, and Nineteenth-Century American Women Writers: A Bio-Bibliographical Critical Sourcebook. Sheis also the author of numerousarticles, essays, and reviews ‘on nineteenth-century Americar writers.

HERLAND,

THE YELLOW WALL-PAPER; AND SELECTED WRITINGS

CHARLOTTE PERKINS GILMAN

EDITED WITH AN INTRODUCTION AND NOTES

'

BY DENISE D. KNIGHT

, ee . 1Q57

199Fa

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Published by the Penguin Group Penguin Putnam Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, U.S.A.

Penguin Books Ltd, 27 Wrights Lane, London W8 5TZ, England 1 Penguin Books Australia Ltd, Ringwood, Victoria, Australia

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This editionfirst published in Penguin Bodks 1999

135 79 10 8 6 4 2

Introduction and notes copyright © Denise D. Knight, 1999 All rights reserved

LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING IN PUBLICATION DATA

Gilman, Charlotte Perkins, 1860-1935, The Yellow Wall-Paper, and selected writings/Charlotte Perkins

Gilman:edited with an introduction and notes by Denise D. Knight. p- m.

Includes bibliographical references (p. ). ISBN 0- 14- 11.8062-5 ~

– Feminist—Literary collections. 2. Utopias—Literary collections, 3. Women—Literary collections. I. Knight, Denise

D.,1954- . ILTitle. PS1744.G57A6 1999a

818'.409-—de21 99719099

Printed in the United States of America Set in Stempel Garamond

Except-in the United States df America, this book is sold subject to the condition thatit shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, belent, re-sold, hired out, ‘or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in whichit is

published and withouta similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I wish to express my appreciation to Kristine Puopolo, my editorat Penguin Books, for her commitment to this project and for her guidance and thoughtful suggestions. I am also grateful to Gretchen M. Goganin the interlibrary loan departmerit at the State Uni- versity of New York at Cortland for cheerfully and promptly re- sponding to my requests for assistance. Gary Scharnhorst deserves recognition for his early work onGjlman and particularly for com- piling Charlotte Perkins Gilman: A Bibliography (1985), an indis- pensable resource for Gilman scholars. Most of all, I thank my husband, Michael K. Barylski, for his ongoing love, support, en- couragement, andinterest in my work.on Gilman.

The Yellow Wall-Paper' '

IT Is VERY seldom that.mere ordinary people like John and myself secure ancestral halls for the summer. A colonial mansion, a hereditary estate, I would say a haunted

house, and reach the height of romantic felicity—but that would be asking too muchoffate!

Still I will proudly declare that there is something queer aboutit.

Else, why should it be let so cheaply? And why have stood so long untenanted?

Johnlaughs at me, of course, but one expects that in marriage. Johnis practical in the extreme. He has no patience with faith, an

intense horror of superstition, and he scoffs openly at any talk of things notto be felt and seen and put downin figures.

John is a physician, and perhaps—{I wouldnotsayit to a living soul, of course, but this is dead paper and a great relief to my mind—) perhapsthat is one reason I do notget well faster.

Yousee he does notbelieve I am sick! And what can one do? / If a physician of high standing, and one’s own husband, assures

friends andrelatives that thereis really nothing the matter with one but temporary nervous depression—a slight hysterical tendency— whatis one to do? .

Mybrotheris also a physician, and also of high standing, and he says the same thing.

So I take phosphates or phosphites*—whicheverit is, and tonics, and journeys, and air, and exercise, and am absolutely forbidden to “work” until I am well again.

Personally, I disagree with their ideas. Personally, I believe that congenial work, with excitement and

change, would do me good. But what is one to do? I did write for a while in spite of them; but it does exhaust me a

166

THE YELLOW WALL-PAPER 167

good deal—havingto, be so sly aboutit, or else meet with heavy op- position. .

I sometimes fancy that in my condition if I had less opposition and more society and stimulus—butJohn says the very’worst thing I can do ig to think about my condition, and I confess it always makes me feel bad.

So J will let it alone and talk about the house. The most. beautiful place! It is quite alone, standing well back

from the road, quite three miles from the village. It makes me think of English places that you read about, for there are hedges and walls and gates that lock, and lots of separatelittle houses for the garden- érs and people.

Thereis a delicious garden! J never saw such a garden—large and shady, full of box-bordered paths, and lined with long grape- covered arbors with seats under them.

There were greenhouses, too, but they are all broken now. There was somelegal trouble, I believe, something about the

heirs and, co-heirs; anyhow,the place has been empty for years. Thatspoils my ghostliness, Iam afraid, but I don’t care—thereis

something strange about the house—I canféel it. I even said so to John one moonlight evening, but he said what I

felt was a draught, and shut the window. I get unreasonably angry with John sometimes. I’m sure I never

used to be so sensitive. I think it is due to this nervous condition. ButJohn saysif I feel so, I shall neglect properself-control; so I

take pains to control myself—beforé him, at least, and that miakes me verytired.

I don’t like our room bit. I wanted one downstairs that opened on the piazza and had rosesall over the window, and suchpretty old-fashioned chintz hangings! but John would nothearofit.

Hesaid there was only one window and not room for two beds, and no near room for him if he took another.

Heis very careful and loving, and. hardly lets me stir. without special direction.

I have a schedule prescription for each hourin the day; he takes all care from me,andsoI feel basely ungrateful not-to value it more.

Hesaid we came here solely on my account, that I was to have perfect rest and all the air I could get. “Your exercise depends on

168 CHARLOTTE PERKINS GILMAN

your strength, my dear,” said the, “and your food somewhat on your appetite; but air you can absorball the time.” So we took the nursery at the top of the house.

It is a big, airy room, the wholefloornearly, with windows,that look all ways, and air and suashine galore. It was nursefy first and then playroom and gymnasium, I should judge; for the windows arebarred forlittle children, and there are rings and things jn the walls.

The paint and paper look as.if a boys’ school had used it. It is stripped off—the paper—in great patchesall around the head of my bed, aboutas far asI can reach, and in a great place on the otherside of the room low down,I never saw a worse paper in mylife.

One of those sprawling flamboyant‘patterns éommitting every artistic sif.

It is duil enough to confuse the eye in’following, pronounced enoughto constantlyirritate and provoke study, and when youfol- lowthe lame uncertain curves for

a

little distance they suddenly commit suicide—plunge off at outrageous angles, destroy them- selves in unheardof contradictions. +

Thecoloris repellant, almost revolting; a smouldering unclean yellow, strangely faded by the slow-turning sunlight.

Ic is a dull yet lurid orange in someplaces,a sickly sulphurtintin others. No wonder-the children ‘hated it! I should hate it myself if I had

to live in this room long. . There comes John, and I must put this away,—hehates to, have

mie write a word. ‘

HOO ao

We have been htre two weeks, and I haven’tfelt like writing be- fore, since thatfirst day.

I am sitting by the window now,upin this atrocious nursery, and there is nothing to hinder my writing as much as I please, save lack of strength. ,

John is awayall day, and even some nights whenhiscases are se- rious. Iam glad mycaseis notserious!

THE YELLOW WALL-PAPER 169

Butthese nervous troubles are dreadfully depressing. John does not know how muchI really suffer. He knowsthereis

no reason to suffer, and thatsatisfies him.

Ofcourse it is only nervousness. It does weigh on meso not to do my duty in any way! ‘ ‘

I meantto besuch a help to John, such a real rest and comfort, and here J am a comparative burden already! Nobody would believe what an effortit isto do whatlittle I am

able,—to dress and entertain, and order things. It is fortunate Mary is so good with the baby. Such a dear baby! Andyet I cannotbe with him, it makes me so nervous. I suppose John never was nervousin his life. He laughs at me so

aboutthis ‘wall-paper! > . . Atfirst he meantto repaperthe room,but afterwards hesaid that

I wasletting it get the better of me, and that nothing was worse for a nervouspatient than to give way to such fancies.

Hesaid that after the wall-paper was changed it would be the / heavy bedstead, and then the barred windows, and then that gate at the head ofthestairs, and soon.

“You know the place is doing you good,” hesaid, “and really, dear, I don’t care to renovate the house just for a three months’ rental.” .

“Then do let us go downstairs,” I said, “there are such pretty

roomsthere.” Then he took mein his arms and called me a blessedlittle goose,

and said he would go downcellar, if I wished, and have it white- washedinto the’bargain. .

Butheis right enough about the beds and windows and things. It is an airy and comfortable room as any one need wish, and, of

course, 1 would not be so silly as to make him uncomfortable just for a whim.

I’m really getting quite fond of the big room,all but that horrid paper.

Outof one window I can‘see the garden, those mysterious deep- shaded arbors, the riotous’ old-fashioned flowers, and bushes and gnarly trees.

Out’of anotherI get a lovely view of the bay anda little private wharf belonging to the estate. There is a beautiful shaded lane that

170

CHARLOTTE PERKINS GILMAN

runs downthere from the house,I always fancy I see people walk- ing in these numerouspaths andarbors, but John has cautioned*me notto give wayto fancyin theleast. He says that with my imagina- tive powerand habit of story-making, a nervous weaknesslike mine is sure to lead to all manner of excited fancies, and that I ought to use my will and good sense to check the tendency. So try.

I think sometimesthatif I were only well enough to write a little it would relieve the press of ideas and rest me.

ButI find I get pretty tired whenI try. It is so discouraging not to have any advice and companionship

about my work. When I get really well, John says we will ask Cousin Henry and Julia downfor a longvisit; but he says he would as soon putfireworks in my pillow-case as to let.me have those stimulating people about now.

I wish I could get well faster. But I must not think aboutthat. This paper looks to measif it

knew whata viciousinfluenceit had! . There is a recurrent spot where.the pattern’ lolls like a broken neck and two bulbouseyes stare at you upside down.

I get positively angry with the impertinence ofit and the ever- lastingness. Up and down and sideways they crawl, and those ab- surd, unblinking eyes are everywhere. Thereis one place where two breadths didn’t match, andthe eyesgo all up and down-theline, one a little higher than the other.

I never saw so muchexpression in an inanimatething before, and weall know how much expression they have!I used to lie awake as a child and get more entertainment and terror out of blank walls and plain furniture than most, children couldfindin‘a toy-store.

I remember whata’ kindly wink the knobsof our.big, old bureau used to Have, and there was one chair that always seemedlike a strongfriend. , ’

I used to feel that if any of, the other things looked too fierce I could always hopinto that chair and besafe.

‘The furniture in this room is no worse than inharmonious, how- ever, for we hadto bringit all from downstairs. I suppose whenthis wasused as a playroom they hadto take the nursery things out, and no wonder! I never saw such ravages as the children have made here.

THE YELLOW WALL-PAPER 171

The wall-paper, as I said before,is torn off in spots, andit stick-

eth closerthan a brother—they must have had perseveranceas well

as hatred. Thenthe flooris scratched and gougedandsplintered,theplaster

itself is dug out here andthere, and this great heavy bed whichis all

we foundin the room,looksasif it had been through the wars. But I don’t mindit a bit—only the paper. There comes John’ssister. Such a deargirl as she is, and so care-

ful of me! I must notlet her find me writing. She is a perfect and enthusiastic housekeeper, and hopes for nO.

better profession.I verily believe she thinksit is the writing which

made mesick! But I can write whén sheis out, and see her a long way off from

these windows. .

There is one that commands the road, a lovely shaded winding

road, and onethatjust looks off over the country. A lovely country,

too,full of great elms and velvet meadows. ; This wallpaper has a kind of subpattern in adifferent shade, a

particularly irritating one, for you can only seeit in certain lights,

and notclearly then. .

Butin, the places whereit isn’t faded.and where the sunis just

so—I can see astrange, provoking, formless sort of figure, that

seems to skulk about behind that silly and conspicuous front de-

sign. : There’s sister on thestairs!

eR

Well, the Fourth of July is over! The peopleare all gone and I am

tired out. John thoughtit might do me goodtosee

a

little company,

so wejust had mother and Nellie and the children down for.a week.

Of course I didn’t do a thing. Jennie sees to everything now.

Butit tired meall the same. ;

John says if I don’t pick up faster he shall send me to Weir

Mitchell? in thefall. —_

But I don’t wantto go thereat all. I had a friend who wasin his

hands once, and shesays heis just like John and my brother, only

moreso!

172 CHARLOTTE PERKINS GILMAN

Besides,it is’such an undertaking to go so far. I don’t feel as if it was worth while to turn my hand over for

anything, and I’m getting dreadfully fretful and querulous. I cry at nothing, and cry most of the time. Ofcourse I.don’t whenJohnis here, or anybody else, but when

Tam alone. And I am alone a good deal just now. Johnis kept'in town very

often by serious cases, and Jennie is good and lets me alone when I wantherto.

So I walka little in the garden or downthat lovely lane, sit on the porch under the roses, and lie'down up here a good deal.

I’m gettingreally fond of the room in spite of the wallpaper. Per- haps because of the wallpaper.

It dwells in my mindso! I lie here on this great immovablé bed—it is nailed down,I be-

lieve—and follow that pattern about by the hour. It is as good as gymnastics, I assure you. I start, we'll say, at the bottom, déwnin the corner over there where it has not been touched, and’I deter- mine for the thousandth timethat I will follow that pointless pat- tern to somesort of a conclusion.

I know little of the prinviple of design, and J know this thing was notarraiged onany lawsof radiation, or alternation, or repeti- tion, or symmetry, or anything else that I ever heardof.

It is repeated, of course, by the breadths, but not otherwise. Looked at in one way each breadth stands ‘alone, the bloated

curves and flourishes—a kind of “debased Romanesque”* with delirium tremens>—go waddlingup and downinisolated columns of fatuity.

But, on the otherhand, they connect diagonally, and the sprawl- ing outlines runoffin great slanting waves ofoptic horror,like a lot of wallowing seaweedsin,full chase.

The whole thing goes horizontally, too, at least it seems SO, and I exhaust myself in trying to distinguish the orderofits going in that direction.

They have used a horizontal breadth for a frieze,° and that adds wonderfully to the confusion.

Thereis one end of the room whereit is almost intact, and there, whenthecrosslights fade and the low sun shines directly uponit, I can almost fancy radiation after all,—the interminable grotesques ~

THE YELLOW WALL-PAPER 173

seem to form around a commion centre and rush off in headlong plungesof equal distraction.

It makes metired to follow it. I will take a nap I guess.

a

I don’t know whyI should write this. I don’t wantto. I don’t feel able. And I know John would think it absurd. But I muse say what I

feel and-think in some way—it is such relief! Buttheeffortis getting to be greater than therelief. Half the time now I am awfully lazy, and lie down ever so much. John says I mustn’t lose my strength, and has me take codliver

oil and lots of tonics and things, to say nothing of ale and wine and rare meat.

Dear John! Heloves me very dearly, and hates to have mesick. I tried to have a real earnest reasonable talk with him the other day, and tell him how I wish he would let me go and make a visit to Cousin Henry andJulia.

Buthe said I wash’t able to go, nor able to stand it after I got there; and I did not make out a very good case for myself, for I was crying before J had finished.

It is getting to be a great effort for me to think straight. Just this nervous weakness I suppose. And dear John gathered meup in his arms, and just carried me

upstairs and laid me on the bed, and sat by me andread to metill it tired my head.

Hesaid I washis darling and his comfortandall he had, and that I musttake care of myself for his sake, and keep well. He says no one but myself can help-me outofit, that I must use

my will and self-control and ‘notlet any silly fancies run away with me.

There’s one comfort, the baby is well and happy, and does not have to occupy this nursery with the horrid wallpaper.

If we had notusedit, that blessed child would have! Whata for- tunate escape! Why, I wouldn’t have a child of mine, an impression- able little thing, live in such a room for worlds.

I never thought of it before, but it is lucky that John kept

174 CHARLOTTE PERKINS GILMAN

mehereafterall, I can stand it so much easier than a baby, yousee. Of course I never mention it to them any more—I am too

wise,—butI keep watch ofit all the same.

There are things in that paper that nobody knows but me, or ever will.

Behind that outside pattern the dim shapesgetclearer every day. It is always the same shape, only very numerous. Anditis like a woman stooping down andcreeping aboutbe-

hind thatpattern. I don’t like it a bit. 1 wonder—Ibegin to think— ‘I wish John would take me away from here!

It is so hard to talk with John about my case, because heis so wise, and because he loves me so.

ButI tried it last night. , Tt was moonlight. The moonshinesin alf around just as the sun oes.

I hate to see it sometimes, it creeps so slowly, and always comes in by one window oranother.

John was asleep and I hated to waken him, so I keptstill and watched the moonlight on that undulating wallpaper till I felt creepy.

The faint figure behind seémed to shake the pattern;just as if she wantedto get out.

I got up softly and wentto feel and see if the paper did move, and when I came back John was awake.

“Whatisit, little girl?” he said. “Don’t go walking aboutlike that—you’ll get cold.”

I thought it was a good timeto talk, so I told him thatI really was not gaining here, and that I wishedhe would take me away.

“Why, darling!” said he, “ourlease will be up in three weeks, and I can’t see how to leave before.

“The repairs are not done at home, and I cannotpossibly leave town just now. Of course if you were in any danger, I could and would, but youreally are better, dear, whether you cansee it or not. Tam a doctor, dear, and J know. Youare gaining flesh and color, your appetiteis better, I feel really much easier about you.”

THE YELLOW WALL-PAPER 175

“1 don’t weigha bit more,”saidI, “nor as much; and my appetite may bebetter in the evening when you are here, butit is worse in

the morning when you are away!” “Bless herlittle heart!” said he with a big hug, “she shall be as

sick as she pleases! But now let’s improve the shining hours by go- ing to sleep, andtalk aboutit in the morning!””

“And you won't go away?”I asked gloomily. “Why, how can I, dear? It is only three weeks more and then we

will take a nicelittle trip of a few days while Jennie is getting the house ready. Really dear you are better!” ‘

“Better in body perhaps—” I began, and stopped short, for he sat up straight and looked at me with such a stern, reproachfullook that I could not say another word.

“Mydarling,” said he, “I beg of you, for my sake and for our child’s sake, as well as for your own, that you will never for onein-

stantlet that idea enter your mind! There is nothing so dangerous, so fascinating, to a temperamentlike yours. It is a false and foolish fancy. Can younottrust me as a physician when tell you so?”

So of course I said no more on that score, and we wentto sleep

before long. He thought I was asleep first, but 1 wasn’t, and lay, there for hours trying to decide whether that front pattern and the back pattern really did move together or separately.

Re

On a pattern like this, by daylight, there'is a lack of sequence, a defianceoflaw,that is a constantirritant to a normal mind.

Thecolor is hideous enough, and unreliable enough, and infuri- ating enough,butthe pattern is torturing.

You think you have masteredit, but just as you get well under- wayin following, it turns a back-somersault and there youare. It slaps you in the face, knocks you down, and tramples upon you.It is like a bad dream. :

The outside patternis a florid arabesque, remindingoneof a fun-

gus. If you can imagine,a toadstoolin joints, an interminable string of toadstools, budding and sprouting in endless convolutions— why, that is somethinglikeit.

Thatis, sometimes!

176 CHARLOTTE PERKINS GILMAN

There is one marked peculiarity aboutthis paper, a thing nobody seems to notice but myself, and that is that it changes as thelight changes. When the sun shoots in through the east window—I “always

watch for that first long, straight ray—it changes so quickly that I never can quite believeit.

That is why I watch it always. By moonlight—the moon shines in all night when there-is a

moon—I wouldn’t know it was,the samepaper. Atnight in any kind oflight, in twilight, candlelight, lamplight,

and worstof all by moonlight, it becomes bars! The outside pattern J mean, and the womanbehindit is as plain as can be.

I didn’t realize for a long time whatthe thing was that showed behind, that dim sub-pattern, but now I am quite sure it is a woman.

By daylight she is subdued, quiet. I fancy it is the pattern that keeps hersostill. It is so puzzling. It keeps me quiet by the hour.

I lie down ever so much now.John says it is good for me, and to sleep all I can.

Indeed he started the habit by making me lie down for an hour after each meal. :

It is a very bad- habit I am convinced, for you see I don’t sleep. And that cultivates deceit, for I don’t tell them I’m awake—

O no! The fact is I am gettinga little afraid of John. He seems very queer sometimes, and even Jénnie has an inexplic-

able look. It strikes me occasionally, just as a scientific hypothesis,—that

perhapsit is the paper! I have watched John when he did not know I was looking, and

come’ into the room suddenly on the most innocent excuses, and I’ve caught him several times looking at the paper! And Jennie too. I caught Jennie with herhand onit once.

She didn’t know I was in the room, and when asked her in a quiet, a very quiet voice, with the most restrained manner possible, what she was doing with the.paper—she turned aroundasif she had been caught stealing, and looked quite angry—asked: me why I should frighten her so!

THE YELLOW WALL-PAPER 177

Then she said that the paper stained everything it touched, that she had found yellow smooches onall my clothes and John’s, and she wished,we would be morecareful!

Did not that sound innocent? But J know she was studying that pattern, and I am determined that nobodyshall find it out but my- self!

hk

Life is very much moreexciting now than it used to be. You see I have something more to expect, to look forward to, to watch.I re- ally do eat better, and am morequiet than I was.

John is so pleased to see me improve! He laughed a little the other day, and said I seemedto be flourishing in spite of my wall- paper.

I turned it off-with a laugh. I had no intention’oftelling him it was because of the wall-paper—he would make fun of me. He might even wantto take me away.

I don’t wantto leave now until I have found it out. There is a week more, and I think that will be enough.

Cn

Pm feeling ever so muchbetter! J don’t sleep much at night, for it is o interesting to watch developments; butI sleep a good deal jn the daytime. .

In the daytimeit is tiresome and perplexing. There are always new shoots on the fungus, and new shades of

yellow all over it. I cannot kéep countof them, thoughI havetried

conscientiously. It is the strangest yellow,that wall-paper!® Ie makes me chink of

all the yellow things I ever saw—not beautiful oneslike buttercups, but old foul, bad yellow things.

Butthere is something else about that paper—the smell! I no- ticed it the moment we came into the room, but with so much air and sun it-was not bad. Now we have had a week of fog and rain, and whether the windows are open or not, the smellis here.

It creepsall over the house.

178 CHARLOTTE PERKINS,GILMAN

I find it hovering in the dining-room,skulking in the parlor, hid- ing in thehall, lying in wait for me on thestairs.

It gets into myhair. – Even whenI gotoride,if 1 turn my head suddenly and surprise

it—thereis that smell! Sucha peculiar odor, too! I have spent hours in trying to analyze

it, to find whatit smélled like. It is not bad—atfirst, and very gentle, but quite the subilest,

most enduririg odor I ever met. : In this damp weatherit is awful, I wake up in the night and find

it hanging over me. It used to disturb meatfirst. I thoughtseriously of burning the

house—toreach the smell. But now I am usedtoit. The only thing I can think ofthatit is

like is the color of the paper! A yellow smell. There is a very funny mark on-this wall, low down, near the

mopboard. A streak that runs round the room.It goes behind every piece of furniture, except the bed, a long, straight, even smooch,as if it had been rubbed overandover. ‘

J wonder how it was done and whodid it, and what they didit for. Round and round and round—round and round and round—it’ makes medizzy!

I really have discovered somethingatlast. Through watching so much at night, whenit changes so, I have

finally found out. The front pattern does mové—and no wonder! The woman be-

hind shakesit! Sometimes I think there are’a great many women behind, and

sometimes only one, and she crawls aroundfast, and her crawling shakesit all over. ,

Then in the very bright spots she keeps still, and in the: very shady spots she just takes hold of the bars and shakes them hard.

Andsheis-all the time trying to climb through. But nobody could climb through that pattern—it strangles so; I think that is whyit has so many heads.

THE YELLOW WALL-PAPER 179

They get through, and then the pattern strangles them off and turns them upside down, and makes their eyes white!

“If those heads were-covered or taken off it would not be half so bad. .

ok

I think that woman gets out in the daytime! And [’ll tell you why—privately—I’ve seen her! I can see her out of every qne of my windows! It is the same woman, I know, for she is always creeping, and

most women donotcreep by daylight. I see her in that long shaded lane, creeping up and down.I see

her in those dark grape arb

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