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The Turn of the Screw

           Icouldwritetomymanandenclosethekey;hecouldsenddownthepacketashefindsit.”Itwastomeinparticularthatheappearedtopropoundthisappearedalmosttoappealforaidnottohesitate.Hehadbrokenathicknessofice,theformationofmanyawinter;hadhadhisreasonsforalongsilence.Theothersresentedpostponement,butitwasjusthisscruplesthatcharmedme.Iadjuredhimtowritebythefirstpostandtoagreewithusforanearlyhearing;thenIaskedhimiftheexperienceinquestionhadbeenhisown.Tothishisanswerwasprompt.“Oh,thankGod,no!”

           “Andistherecordyours?Youtookthethingdown?”

           “Nothingbuttheimpression.Itookthathere”hetappedhisheart.“I’veneverlostit.”

           “Thenyourmanuscript?”

           “Isinold,fadedink,andinthemostbeautifulhand.”Hehungfireagain.“Awoman’s.Shehasbeendeadthesetwentyyears.Shesentmethepagesinquestionbeforeshedied.”Theywerealllisteningnow,andofcoursetherewassomebodytobearch,oratanyratetodrawtheinference.Butifheputtheinferencebywithoutasmileitwasalsowithoutirritation.“Shewasamostcharmingperson,butshewastenyearsolderthanI.Shewasmysister’sgoverness,”hequietlysaid.“ShewasthemostagreeablewomanI’veeverknowninherposition;shewouldhavebeenworthyofanywhatever.Itwaslongago,andthisepisodewaslongbefore.IwasatTrinity,andIfoundherathomeonmycomingdownthesecondsummer.

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