thing I know, there''s the poor lady being dragged downstairs by her
pa—her gown all flapping, her shoes undone, the mark of her
brother''s stick on her face—and there''s you, dear girl—there''s you in her arms, and nobody thinking you was anyone''s but hers.— Why should they? Too late to change it, then. She gave me one quick look as her father took her down, and that was all; I fancy she watched me, though, from the window of the coach. But if she was ever sorry she done it, I can''t tell you. I dare say she thought often of Sue; but no more than— Well, no more than she ought.''#思#兔#在#線#閱#讀#
She blinks and turns her head. She has placed her glass of brandy upon the bed between us; the seams in the quilt keep it from spilling. Her hands she has clasped: she is stroking the knuckles of one with the blunt red thumb of the other. Her foot in its slipper goes tap upon the floor. She has not taken her eyes from my face, all the time she has spoken, until now.
My own eyes I close. My hands I place before them, and I