‘And then, when I was explaining to you, somehow I couldn’t find the proper words to explain how hateful it was, and I thought you’d think I’d run away just for nothing. And then my hand hurt, and I thought you thought something more ought to have happened. And then I said that. Mean beast!’
‘I do wish you hadn’t,’ said Charlotte.
‘It didn’t seem to matter just at first. I can’t think why. I thought he meant to hit me next day, and, anyhow, you didn’t know him. And then I got ill and nothing mattered. But when I got better, it kept on getting worse and worse and worse, like a corkscrew worming into you harder and harder and harder all the time.’
‘But why didn’t you own up before?’ Charlotte asked.
‘I couldn’t. I never should have if it hadn’t been for this.’
He pulled his handkerchief with some difficulty from his pocket. Something was wrapped in it. Rupert, his face still turned away, unfolded and held out the waxen man.
‘I came back through the woods yesterday, and then I saw you’d been trying that beastly spell I told you with the pins.’
‘Oh!’ said Charlotte.
‘And I knew it was because I’d told that beastly lie.’