I may as well now abandon the fiction of representing myself in thirdperson and simply say "I", should I not? For who else is left to tellthe tale of ...his sad survivor?The doctor dressed Dot as well as he might, and smuggled a snug casketover the wall that night. The two remaining conspirators placed herwithin the cold earth and covered her with soil and prayers.Then I, Dorothea announced to the household that my dolly had passedaway. I declared that my mind had been much occupied lately. The shock of his touch demanded that she respond by taking a breath. Her breath pushed out her breasts, as though in greeting. Her shoulder blades came together in her back, further thrusting herself outward. Outward to his touch. Outward to his fingers tracing gentle lines across the swelling of her breasts. She felt his touch as she never felt a touch. Edward did not touch her. He might hold her hand a moment at the breakfast table. He might take her arm at a ball, or a. More

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