I foundnothing in my hasty examinatio short prom dress.

his victim. He hid in a cellar, buriedhimself in rotting potatoes for three days. It's a miracle he was able tokeep silent, to stay undiscovered. 　　"It was over then, and he realized what he had become."I'm not sure what my face was revealing, but he suddenly broke off. 　　"How are you feeling?" he asked. 　　"I'm fine," I assured him. And, though room with tall, west-facingwindows. The walls were paneled again, in a darker wood — where they werevisible. Most of the wall space was taken up by towering bookshelves thatreached high above my head and held more books than I'd ever seen outsidea library. 　　Carlisle sat behind a huge mahogany desk in a leather chair. He was justplacing a bookmark in the pages of the thick volume he held. The room washow I'd always imagined a college dean's would look — only Carlislelooked too young to fit the part. 　　"What can I do for you?" he asked us pleasantly, rising from his seat. 　　"I wanted to show Bella some of our history," Edward said. "Well, yourhistory, actually.""We didn't mean to disturb you," I apologized. 　　"Not at all. Where are you going to start?""The Waggoner," Edward replied, placing one hand lightly on my shoulderand spinning me around to look back toward the door we'd just comethrough. Every time he touched me, in even the most casual way,my hearthad an audible reaction. It was more embarrassing with Carlisle there. 　　The wall we faced now was different from the others. Instead ofbookshelves, this wall was crowded with framed pictures of all sizes,some in vibrant colors, others dull monochromes. I searched for somelogic, some binding motif the collection had in common, but I foundnothing in my hasty examination. 　　Edward pulled me toward the far left side, standing me in front of asmall square oil painting in a plain wooden frame. This one did not standout among the bigger and brighter pieces; painted in varying tones ofsepia, it depicted a miniature city full of ste