When night fell, Evelyn's governess would lift the covers of the bed and slip beside me. It was a time when I complained of pains in my legs, high up on my thighs. The governess would lie next to me, making sure not to touch me with her body, and would stroke my legs with a cold and rigid palm, always telling me the same story, with small variations and a quick pace, as if her haste would make me fall asleep faster. Alas, sleep rarely came to me on such nights. The wretched boredom that the tale brought me, and the giant spiders descending from the ceiling, kept my eyelids open.