Authors: Jean Bedford
I
a
m
Lilit
h
no
w,
originall
y
th
e
ow
l
goddes
s
an
d
the
n
th
e
firs
t
wif
e
o
f
Ada
m;
th
e
incarnatio
n
o
f
femal
e
wisdo
m,
yet terribl
e
i
n
punishmen
t,
swif
t
t
o
swoo
p
an
d
tea
r.
M
y
recentl
y
acquire
d
friend
s
fin
d
i
t
a
difficul
t
nam
e
t
o
pronounc
e.
M
y
youn
g
love
r
call
s
m
e‘
Liette
’,
an
d
sh
e
laugh
s
wheneve
r
sh
e
say
s
i
t.I
hav
e
a
whol
e
ne
w
histor
y,
on
e
yo
u
woul
d
no
t
recognis
e.
Ther
e
i
s
a
husban
d
dea
d
o
f
cance
r,
an
d
a
privilege
d
childhoo
d
o
f
cit
y
mansion
s
an
d
boardin
g
school
s.
Ther
e
ar
e
th
e
forge
d
document
s,
m
y
ne
w
nam
e
carefull
y
superimpose
d
o
n
reference
s
whic
h
I
kne
w
th
e
nun
s
woul
d
no
t
bothe
r
t
o
follo
w
u
p,
the
y
wer
e
s
o
happ
y
t
o
hav
e
m
e,
s
o
gratefu
l
whe
n
the
y
observe
d
m
y
expertis
e
.
*
Yo
u
alway
s
wondere
d
wh
o
I
wa
s,
eve
n
whe
n
yo
u
sa
w
m
e,
th
e
vulnerabl
e
chil
d,
desperatel
y
seekin
g
understandin
g.
I’v
e
ofte
n
wondere
d
i
f
you
r
deat
h,
th
e
sudde
n
hear
t
attac
k
i
n
a
n
otherwis
e
fi
t
middl
e-
age
d
woma
n,
migh
t
no
t
hav
e
ha
d
somethin
g
t
o
d
o
wit
h
you
r
sens
e
o
f
failur
e
wit
h
m
e.
I
t
cam
e
a
t
a
tim
e
whe
n
I
kne
w
yo
u
ha
d
n
o
mor
e
t
o
offe
r
m
e,
whe
n
yo
u
kne
w
yo
u
woul
d
neve
r
reac
h
m
e.I
kno
w
i
t
at
e
a
t
yo
u,
lik
e
aci
d
o
n
iro
n,
tha
t
yo
u
coul
d
no
t
ge
t
throug
h
t
o
wha
t
yo
u
though
t
wa
s
ther
e.
Bu
t
I
thin
k
somewher
e
dee
p
an
d
inarticulat
e
yo
u
wer
e
beginnin
g
t
o
suspec
t
wha
t
wa
s
reall
y
ther
e,
an
d
i
t
terrifie
d
yo
u;
tha
t
yo
u
hi
d
th
e
knowledg
e
fro
m
yoursel
f
an
d
tha
t
migh
t
b
e
wha
t
kille
d
yo
u.
It’
s
wh
y
I
addres
s
thi
s
t
o
yo
u,
thi
s
confessio
n
o
f
mysel
f—
becaus
e
I
believ
e
yo
u
love
d
m
e,
althoug
h
yo
u
neve
r
kne
w
m
e.
Perhap
s
yo
u
ar
e
th
e
onl
y
on
e
wh
o
ha
s
eve
r
trul
y
love
d
m
e
.
*
Tomorro
w
I
wil
l
g
o
t
o
Londo
n
fo
r
th
e
weeken
d.I
hav
e
a
n
apartmen
t
ther
e,
to
o,
i
n
m
y
ol
d
nam
e.
Yo
u
neve
r
kne
w
tha
t
I’
d
becom
e
ric
h,
di
d
yo
u?
Ric
h
b
y
m
y
standard
s,
anywa
y.
Whe
n
I
wa
s
mad
e
a
war
d
o
f
th
e
stat
e,
the
y
someho
w
appointe
d
a
n
extremel
y
efficien
t
propert
y
manage
r.
W
e
le
t
th
e
far
m
fo
r
te
n
year
s,
an
d
the
n
whe
n
I
sol
d,
i
t
fetche
d
mor
e
mone
y
tha
n
I’l
l
eve
r
us
e.
Thirt
y
hectare
s
o
f
prim
e
lan
d,
creek
s
an
d
orchard
s
wel
l
maintaine
d
alway
s
b
y
m
y
fathe
r,
kep
t
u
p
b
y
th
e
loca
l
farme
r
who’
d
use
d
i
t
.
I
wen
t
bac
k
onc
e,
t
o
sig
n
th
e
sal
e
document
s,
an
d
I
drov
e
u
p
th
e
lan
e
throug
h
th
e
Lombard
y
pine
s
t
o
wher
e
th
e
hous
e
ha
d
stoo
d.
Onl
y
fragment
s
o
f
th
e
foundation
s
stil
l
poke
d
throug
h
th
e
vine
s
an
d
scru
b
tha
t
ha
d
take
n
ove
r
th
e
clearin
g,
an
d
bathe
d
i
n
sunligh
t
i
t
seeme
d
a
benig
n
spo
t,
cleanse
d.
Ther
e
ar
e
ne
w
house
s
alon
g
tha
t
stretc
h
o
f
roa
d
no
w,
an
d
th
e
plac
e
i
s
no
t
nearl
y
a
s
isolate
d
a
s
i
t
wa
s
whe
n
I
wa
s
a
chil
d.
Eve
n
s
o,I
wa
s
surprise
d
a
t
ho
w
everythin
g
seeme
d
t
o
hav
e
shrun
k—
eve
n
th
e
tw
o
mile
s
fro
m
th
e
crossroad
s
seeme
d
shorte
r.
Th
e
dar
k
Lombardie
s
wer
e
stunte
d,
tattere
d,
no
t
th
e
fearsom
e-
lookin
g
giant
s
o
f
m
y
memor
y
.