Camilla stands on tiptoes to peer over the windowsill. She's not a short child, as children her age go, but it's quite a high sill. "It's too gloomy out to play croquet," she says, a trifle pouty. Little does Silas know the bullet he's thereby dodged. "The ground will be all mucky." She turns back from the window to Silas again. The child's eyes are the same pale inscrutable gray as the adult Camilla's, and the child's gaze the same odd mixture of curiosity and serenity.
"Uncle Hilary reads to us sometimes when it's gloomy out," she tells him. "Would you read to me?"
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2007-04-15 10:21 pm (UTC)"Uncle Hilary reads to us sometimes when it's gloomy out," she tells him. "Would you read to me?"