“We have to get in, I think,” said a nice little old lady in a bonnet to
Ann Veronica, speaking with a voice that quavered a little. Sometimes I
tremble, Anna, to think how near I came to passing through life without a single
glimpse, a moment’s revelation of this greatest and most awful of mysteries, the
mystery of primaeval nature. “He means nothing!” She whispered loudly. I do not desire to
extenuate my guilt—far less to defend it; but I would show you, and such as you
—who, happily, are exempted from trials like mine—how much misery has to do
with crime. It is for that reason that
this novel begins with her there, and neither earlier nor later, for it is the history
of this crisis and its consequences that this novel has to tell. She had been
obliged to spend the night in that fateful bedchamber, the faithful Kimble—who
had foraged at a nearby inn, bringing back a large pie and a jug of porter for his
mistress—guarding the door outside.
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This video was uploaded to indienet.info on 30-06-2024 22:22:12