Status Updates From As Chimney Sweepers Come to...

^A hissing sound caught my attention. It was coming from somewhere behind the Rainsmiths’ house and to my left.

A hissing in the garden is a sound that cannot be ignored by any human female since the time of Eve, and I was no exception.^

Me: 🫢🫢🫢

^The place smelled of commodes and playing cards, and before I was halfway to the end I had made a firm resolve to never to begin to die. For me it would be all or nothing: no half measures, no lingering on the doorstep.^

“begin to die” 😢

^The churchyard at St. Tancred’s had several variations of the verse:

Remember, Friend, as you pass by,
As you are now, so once was I.
As I am now, so you must be,
So Friend, prepare to follow me.^

^As I have said, I was in my own, and the business of gathering evidence was, and would continue to be, like picking up spilled pepper in the dark.^

oh my

^Whenever someone tells you they want to have a little talk, you can be sure they mean a big one.^

Aha! That’s what the pitcher is called: a ewer

^I would never have thought it possible, but I missed my sister. She had been the lemon on my fish, the vinegar on my chips, I realized with a sudden pang, and that without her, life from now on was going to be less tasty.^

^”Banished!” they howled. “Banished!”

There is no sadder word in the English language. The very sound of it—like echoing iron gates crashing closed behind you; like steel bolts being shot shut—makes your hair stand up on end, doesn’t it?^

^Fear no more the heat o’ the sun,
Nor the furious winter’s rages;
Thou thy worldly task hast done,
Home art gone, and ta’en thy wages:
Golden lads and girls all must,
As chimney sweepers, come to dust.
—William Shakespeare,
Cymbeline (IV.ii)^