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"
I
wanted
to
show
Bella
some
of
our
history
,
"
Edward
said
.
"
Well
,
your
history
,
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
shoulder
and
spinning
me
around
to
look
back
toward
the
door
we
’
d
just
come
through
.
Every
time
he
touched
me
,
in
even
the
most
casual
way
,
my
heart
had
an
audible
reaction
.
It
was
more
embarrassing
with
Carlisle
there
.
The
wall
we
faced
now
was
different
from
the
others
.
Instead
of
bookshelves
,
this
wall
was
crowded
with
framed
pictures
of
all
sizes
,
some
in
vibrant
colors
,
others
dull
monochromes
.
I
searched
for
some
logic
,
some
binding
motif
the
collection
had
in
common
,
but
I
found
nothing
in
my
hasty
examination
.
Edward
pulled
me
toward
the
far
left
side
,
standing
me
in
front
of
a
small
square
oil
painting
in
a
plain
wooden
frame
.
This
one
did
not
stand
out
among
the
bigger
and
brighter
pieces
;
painted
in
varying
tones
of
sepia
,
it
depicted
a
miniature
city
full
of
steeply
slanted
roofs
,
with
thin
spires
atop
a
few
scattered
towers
.
A
wide
river
filled
the
foreground
,
crossed
by
a
bridge
covered
with
structures
that
looked
like
tiny
cathedrals
.
"
London
in
the
sixteen
-
fifties
,
"
Edward
said
.
"
The
London
of
my
youth
,
"
Carlisle
added
,
from
a
few
feet
behind
us
.
I
flinched
;
I
hadn
’
t
heard
him
approach
.
Edward
squeezed
my
hand
.
"
Will
you
tell
the
story
?
"
Edward
asked
.
I
twisted
a
little
to
see
Carlisle
’
s
reaction
.
He
met
my
glance
and
smiled
.
"
I
would
,
"
he
replied
.
"
But
I
’
m
actually
running
a
bit
late
.
The
hospital
called
this
morning
-
Dr
.
Snow
is
taking
a
sick
day
.
Besides
,
you
know
the
stories
as
well
as
I
do
,
"
he
added
,
grinning
at
Edward
now
.
