The Aviary

And though there’s a grain of truth in every rumor, I’ve found that the worst gossip usually starts with something harmless.

Put your nose in a book. That’s the best thing for you.

Books were the one way Clara could wander, so she was more than happy to spend her morning with the Black Knight and legendary outlaws of the forest.

Could be worse, I guess. Could have a husband.

No matter what passes, for good or ill, it is always better to know.

Despite her promise to share every secret, Clara didn’t tell Daphne about her faulty heart. It was too gratifying to be recognized for her strength. Clara wanted to be the person that Daphne saw.

And though Clara couldn’t speak, she determined that she would no longer be aimless. Whatever wit or pluck she had would be used for one thing: clearing Mrs. Glendoveer’s name.

I believe, and now I suspect we’re more alike than I’d imagined.” She raised her right hand. “You shall have my word,” she said. “No more secrets. Unless they’re ours together.

If she also heard Mrs. Glendoveer’s voice warning her against this ill-advised adventure, she did not listen. She felt too bright inside.

I ask too many personal questions and am always poking into the out-of-the-way places.

She had to admit that she sometimes saw in them a reflection of herself, cooped up with nothing but the same faces to look at day after day. But today, she’d gone on a carriage ride and opened the door to Daphne. Perhaps her own cage door might be rattling open. Just a little bit?

And she knew that no matter how fast she moved, she could not reach her mother quickly enough, and the doctor would be too slow, and tomorrow would be terrible in a way that would make her long for the security of all her old dissatisfactions.

Pretty, mysterious girl with braids … The depiction thrilled her. To be seen, to be described—it was as if the plain girl she always saw in the mirror might be magically transformed by the simple act of being observed by others. Pretty? Mysterious? What else might Clara be?

Clara became so immersed in her “made-up” life that she almost began to believe she was the smart, strong, kind girl beloved by classmates who ran here and there boldly and with complete freedom. Then the clock tower struck eight o’clock and broke the spell.

mirror. Daylight now awaken thee.” With a loud clap of his hands, Mr.