Explore "Septimus Septimusson" by Edith Nesbit on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
The wind was screaming over the marsh. It shook the shutters and rattled / the windows, and the little boy lay awake in the bare attic. His mother / came softly up the ladder stairs shading the flame of the tallow candle / with her hand.
'I'm not asleep, mother,' said he. And she heard the tears in his voice.