Explore "The Island" by Richard Whiteing on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
So much I remember of my reading, and I slowly bring it back to life, with much help in concentration from one of the rafters of yellow wood with which my chamber is roofed. I am steadily gazing at the rafter, as I have been any time this hour past, when I hear a knock at the door, give the familiar pass-word, and receive Victoria's unembarrassed ‘Good-morning' as she walks majestically in, and takes a seat on the edge of the bed. I watched her savage cheek for the trace of a blush, but there was none. I hope she did not watch mine.
‘Must we call you "Lord"? ' she inquired, with grave politeness. ‘Father says we ought, but I thought I would ask you first.'