''Indeed?'' says the doctor. The other pauses, his pencil raised.
Richard wets his mouth; and all at once I know what he means to say, and quickly turn my face to his. He marks it. He speaks, before I can.
''Susan,'' he says, ''you do well to feel shame in behalf of your mistress. You need feel none, however, in behalf of yourself. No guilt attaches to you. You did nothing to invite or encourage the gross attentions my wife, in her madness, attempted to force on you—''
He bites at his hand. The doctors stare, then turn to gaze at me.
''Miss Smith,'' says the first, leaning closer, ''is this true?''
I think of Sue. I think of her, not as she must be now, in the room beyond the wall—satisfied to have betrayed me, glad to suppose herself about to return at last to her home, the dark thieves'' den, in London. I think of her holding herself above me, her hair let down, You pearl. . .
''Miss Smith?''
I have begun to weep.
''Surely,'' says Richard, coming to me, putting his hand heavily upon my shoulder, ''surely these tears speak for themselves? Do we need to name the unhappy passion? Must we oblige Miss Smith to rehearse the words, the artful poses—the caresses—to which my distracted wife has made her subject? Aren''t we gentlemen?''`本`作`品`由`思`兔`在`線`閱`讀`網`友`整`理`上`傳`