Мидлмарч

Chapter 82

           IthappenedthatnothingcalledLydgateoutoftheroom;butwhenRosamondpouredoutthetea,andWillcameneartofetchit,sheplacedatinybitoffoldedpaperinhissaucer.Hesawitandsecureditquickly,butashewentbacktohisinnhehadnoeagernesstounfoldthepaper.WhatRosamondhadwrittentohimwouldprobablydeepenthepainfulimpressionsoftheevening.Still,heopenedandreaditbyhisbed-candle.Therewereonlythesefewwordsinherneatlyflowinghand:—

           "IhavetoldMrs.Casaubon.Sheisnotunderanymistakeaboutyou.Itoldherbecauseshecametoseemeandwasverykind.Youwillhavenothingtoreproachmewithnow.Ishallnothavemadeanydifferencetoyou."

           Theeffectofthesewordswasnotquiteallgladness.AsWilldweltonthemwithexcitedimagination,hefelthischeeksandearsburningatthethoughtofwhathadoccurredbetweenDorotheaandRosamondattheuncertaintyhowfarDorotheamightstillfeelherdignitywoundedinhavinganexplanationofhisconductofferedtoher.Theremightstillremaininhermindachangedassociationwithhimwhichmadeanirremediabledifferencealastingflaw.Withactivefancyhewroughthimselfintoastateofdoubtlittlemoreeasythanthatofthemanwhohasescapedfromwreckbynightandstandsonunknowngroundinthedarkness

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